Live and Let Die
by alyssajoy64
Summary: Alex thinks he has finally left MI6 behind, but a madman's twisted game of hide and seek soon drags him back in. With K-Unit's lives on the line, he'll have to become more than a pawn in a plot bigger than he could have ever imagined.
1. Prologue

Bill Oglesby was having a good day. No, make that a _terrific_ day.

First, Man U had won today (he'd have to corner Jeff from Block D tomorrow for that tenner), then his wife had texted him that his mother-in-law had gotten the flu, meaning that unfortunately she wouldn't be able to come and stay with them for two weeks like they had planned. Pity. And if that didn't take the cake, Mr. Jennings had just told him that he could head home early tonight, saying something to the extent of "it's going to be a quiet night, why don't you go home and spend some time with Peggy." And Bill was never one to argue with his superiors, you know.

Humming softly to himself, he made his way towards the lockers in the basement. Maybe he should stop and pick up some flowers before he went home? _Some red gerbera daisies – Peggy loves those…_ They could turn on some soft jazz, pop open that 2007 Cabernet Sauvignon they had down in the cellar; maybe take a bubble bath together…

"Yes sir, everything will be ready…"

Mr. Jennings' voice drifted out through a partially opened door, interrupting Bill's thoughts as he neared the man's office. He was never one to eavesdrop, but something about the man's voice made him stop. Pressing himself against the outside wall of the office, he cocked his head towards the door so he could hear him better.

"I'm quite confidant everything will go according to plan, sir."

If he didn't know better, he'd think Mr. Jennings sounded nervous. He shook his head. That wasn't possible. Mr. Jennings was a formidable man – not only in size, but personality as well. It was why he was able to run Blackthorn Psychiatric Hospital as well as he did.

"Sir, I understand the seriousness of this situation and I assure you that I've taken every precaution necessary to make sure there are no surprises or slip-ups."

_Must be a Head coming to visit_, he thought, _that'd be enough to make any man nervous._ Detaching himself from the wall, he turned to continue on his way, but froze when Mr. Jennings spoke again.

"I assume you know that Patient 273 is extremely dangerous and unpredictable, sir, and that you will have the proper manpower to transport him? No... All of my men except a few trusted individuals will be gone tonight… They've been trained to handle him, but transportation was not part of our agreement!"

_Patient 273? Isn't that…?_ Bill's face drained of color. He'd never seen the man himself because contact with him was restricted to a few highly trained individuals, but he'd heard tales. Horrifying tales of the patient that had a whole block to himself; a man who was never officially discussed but was an unending source of rumors and speculation among the staff. A man, they said, who was supposed to be locked up and forgotten; never to see the light of day again for his crimes against humanity.

"I don't want any chance of being indicted in this!"

Bill's blood ran cold at the fear and anger in his boss's voice. _He's definitely not talking to a Head…_ In fact, he was pretty sure whatever Mr. Jennings was discussing was far from legal and that he wanted to be very far from here as soon as possible. Moving quickly, he started down the hallway, tensing as he walked past the door. _Just act natural. You have every reason to be walking past. Keep walking…_

"Oglesby!"

He stopped, barely suppressing the groan that was clawing its way up his throat. _It's ok, he doesn't know. He probably just wants to ask you something. He couldn't possibly know. _Somehow, despite those reassuring thoughts, he felt his stomach twist into painful knots as he slowly turned on his heels and headed back towards the office.

"Listen, something's come up, sir, we'll have to finish discussing this tonight." Mr. Jennings motioned for him to step inside as he finished up on the phone. "Yes sir…yes…yes sir…"

Bill shuffled nervously as he waited. _Stop acting so antsy! He's called you into his office before! Probably just wants to know about your Block, is all._ _Just be normal._ He forced a small smile as the man hung up. _Just. Be. Normal._

"Ah, Bill!" Mr. Jennings smiled, his nicotine stained teeth appearing even yellower in the harsh fluorescent lighting. "Close that door and come have a seat. Now," he said once Bill had settled himself in the hard plastic chair, "tell me, how's work going? Everything in Block B going well?"

_See!_ A sigh of relief escaped him and his muscles relaxed a bit. "Everything's great, sir," he said. "We haven't had any incidents with the patients in almost a week."

"Excellent."

Silence descended upon the room, and Bill began to feel increasingly uncomfortable under the steady gaze of his boss.

"How much did you hear, Bill?" the man asked suddenly.

"I-I'm sorry, sir?"

"Don't play dumb, Oglesby." Mr. Jennings was still smiling, but it no longer reached his eyes. "You breathe like a rabid wildebeest. I could hear you out there."

"I…I-a…" Bill knew his mouth was flopping open like a fish, but he couldn't help it. It felt as if a knife had suddenly been twisted into his gut.

"You see, Bill, that conversation had some very sensitive information in it." The man leaned over the desk, as if scolding a small child. "Information that my employers would be very upset to find that you knew."

_I'm going to get fired, and then Peggy's going to kill me!_ "I-I won't tell anyone, I swear! Please Mr. Jennings, don't fire me!" He knew he was begging, but he didn't care. He needed this job.

The smile melted away, only to be replaced by disappointment and a hint of regret. "I'm not going to fire you, Bill – I believe you," he said, opening the top drawer of his desk. "However, my employers, unfortunately, would not." He pulled out a large handgun with a silencer attached and fired. The bullet spat from the barrel with a flash and slammed into its target. "And that would be the death of both of us, I'm afraid."


	2. Chapter 1

Live and Let Die by alyssajoy64

Summary: Alex is dragged into a twisted and deadly game of hide and seek. The stakes? The lives of old friends and...enemies? The deeper he gets, the more he finds he may be nothing more than a pawn in a plot bigger than he could have ever imagined.

Rating: T

**A/N: **Hey everyone! I'd like to say a few things as I start off this first chapter.

1. I'm not from the UK, I'm from America. Therefore, I'm sorry for any Americanisms that slip in.

2. As for Alex's schooling, I did research on the British school system, and I must admit I found it confusing. I tried my best to make it accurate, but again, I apologize for anything that's incorrect.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any recognizable characters, they belong to Anthony Horowitz. I also do not own the song "Live and Let Die" - it belongs to Paul McCartney and the Wings.

* * *

"_Happy birthday, Alex!"_

_The fair-haired boy looked up from his dinner plate to see Jack Starbright walk in with a small chocolate cake, the fourteen candles on top glowing brightly in the dim dining room lighting. He sent a quick glance at the man across the table from him to see a smile spread across the tanned face. Slowly the boy let one spread across his as well. He should've known Ian would want to celebrate tonight despite the dark circles under his uncle's eyes. Apparently it'd been a hard business trip. _

"_Well, are we going to sing or are we going to let these candle burn into the cake?" Jack asked, feigning impatience. There was a sparkle in her eyes that said that Alex wasn't the only one who was happy Ian was back._

"_I suppose so…" Ian shot Alex a quick wink before breaking into song. "When you were young and your heart was an open book…"_

_Alex choked on the bite of meatloaf he'd just put in his mouth. _

"_You used to say 'live and let live'…"_

_Jack chimed in with a perfectly on-tune "ya know you did, ya know you did, ya know you did…" while Alex was pounding on his chest, still trying to recover from the initial shock._

"_But in this ever changing world in which we live in…" _

The scene suddenly dissolved, and Alex Rider groaned as the sunlight streamed in through the windows, glowing pink through his eyelids.

"_makes you give in and cry…" _

Pulling a hand out from underneath the comforter, he fumbled blindly around the nightstand, grimacing slightly as he knocked a stack of books and a dirty plate onto the floor.

"_Say live and let di-"_

Fingers finally wrapping around his cellphone, he turned off the alarm and let his arm fall back over his eyes. _Well that was an unusual twist to that memory._

It was no wonder he preferred Jack's screeching to the conventional alarm clock. _Only, _he counted silently in his head, grimacing again, _5 more days till Jack gets back from San Diego._ On that note, he'd have to change his alarm to something a little more…subtle - he didn't know whether his dream self could handle any more surprise appearances by Paul McCartney.

Sliding out of bed, he made his way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee before getting a shower. Twenty minutes later found him in front of the bathroom mirror, coffee cup and a slice of dry toast in one hand while he finger-combed his damp locks with the other. As he turned away to finish getting ready, his eyes strayed to the livid, white scar above his heart. Absently he rubbed its slightly puckered edges, something he did whenever he happened to think about it. Oddly enough, this was the first time in a while. It had been nearly four years, after all…

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. He didn't want to start his morning off like _that_.

Taking a bite of the toast and chasing it down with a swig of coffee, he left the bathroom, padding down the hallway to his room. After collecting his schoolbooks from where he'd knocked them to the floor, he grabbed his watch off the top of the wardrobe. The silver band winked in the sunlight as he snapped it on, and he found himself admiring the fine workmanship of it once again. Smithers had given it to him just a few months ago; a belated 18th birthday present, the note had said, but Alex supposed that it had been a parting gift of sorts as well.

MI6's gadget man had been one of the few in the building that didn't look down on him with blatant disdain at his choice to, as they would put it, abandon his country. The man could see what these missions were doing to him (something everyone else had decidedly ignored), and had told him in the letter accompanying the watch that his only regret in Alex leaving was that he wouldn't get to enjoy the pleasure of his company, however brief it had been, anymore.

There were no gadgets in the watch this time, just a simple timepiece, and for that Alex was grateful. And while he didn't delude himself into thinking that there wasn't some sort of tracking device inside, he contented himself with the fact that, for once since that fateful day when his uncle had died, he had some semblance of control over his life.

Turning 18 had given him the upper hand, legally dissolving the 'guardianship' of the Royal and General Bank, and with Jack's visa secured for life (thanks to an unusually trying mission when he was 16), they had nothing more they could threaten him with.

Now, instead of worrying about sadistic men keen on ending the known world, he worried about passing his A levels; instead of wondering whether his next breath would be his last, he wondered whether that shy brunette in his maths class knew how pretty she looked when her forehead scrunched in concentration. Mr. Blunt had told him he'd never be normal, that he was running away from what he'd been born for, but Alex was through with people telling him who and what he was. He might never be normal, but he'd bloody well try his hardest to be.

Rummaging around the top drawer of his wardrobe for a pair of matching socks, he made a mental note to himself to do laundry soon before giving up and settling for two that appeared somewhat similar.

He started to push the drawer shut, but stopped when his thoughts flitted briefly back to the dream he'd had that morning. It was his last birthday with Ian, and for that reason his brain seemed to have taken extra measures to preserve each and every detail.

After they'd sang to him, his uncle had given him a present – a beautiful pocket knife he'd brought back with him from Germany. The company that had made it, Linder, was one of the best, he'd said. His thirteen-year-old self hadn't stopped to wonder how a banker like Ian would know this, simply accepting the gift with awe-filled eyes.

Reaching back into the drawer, he scrabbled around the back corners until he found it. Alex drew it out, unwrapping it from the soft, blue cloth it had come in. He'd forgotten what a handsome knife it was. The three inch long blade was made of stainless steel, winking with a deadly glint as he flipped it open. It had double nickel-silver bolsters set in a handle made of African Blackwood, the initials 'AJR' engraved in the bottom one.

He'd come up to his room after his birthday dinner and sat on his bed, just staring at the open knife in his hand. In a way, he was frightened of it, yet at the time he couldn't seem to draw his eyes away from the lethal glimmer of the blade.

Jack had come by and knocked on his door, causing him to jump in surprise and in the same instant slice open his palm. Despite the shallowness of the cut, the pain had been sudden, hot, and fiery. Jack had quietly cleaned it up, and they both had agreed that it would be better if they said nothing about it. From that time on, the knife had stayed in the drawer.

He hadn't meant to forget about it, but things had…happened…for lack of a better term for it, and it had gotten buried beneath the last four years of his life along with everything else that could remotely identify him as a teenager. After all, when your life was filled with lies and daily near-death experiences, you didn't exactly have time to chat about – or even remember – all your favorite birthday presents. But now that that part of his life was over, it was almost as if parts of his old self were starting to very slowly reappear.

_Awfully sentimental today, aren't we?_ he thought, grinning wryly at how easily his thoughts turned toward the subject he wanted to think about least.

Sitting down on the bed to pull on his socks and shoes, he found the knife weighing heavily on his thoughts despite his attempts to move to more immediate problems (like that Maths test today he wasn't quite ready for). Finally, as he prepared to leave the house, he decided to take it with him and stuck it down the leg of his thick motorcycle boot. If he had it with him, his mind might allow him to focus on the task at hand knowing that it was there and wouldn't be forgotten again soon.

It was 8:40 when Alex left the house. A few months ago that would've been cutting it to close, but now, well, now he had his baby.

Jack thought he was ridiculous for calling it that, but she, as most women, didn't understand the connection between a man and his car – or motorcycle, in his case.

He felt that same surge of excitement as he did every morning as he wheeled the sleek, red 1974 Zündapp Sport out of the garage. It was only a 125 cc bike, but it was a classic and to him it was better than any BMW or Ducati ever could be.

At 8:54, he pulled into the parking lot of the sixth form college attached to Brookwood.

Thus started the longest day of Alex Rider's life.

* * *

I'll be updating again as soon as possible, but I am in college. Please be patient with me.

**Please feed your local starving author!**

**Review!**

(constructive criticism is more than welcome!)


	3. Chapter 2

I am overwhelmed with the number of responses I've gotten to this story. Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy this next chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. A special thanks goes out to Pygmymeese for betaing!

Also, I'd like to note that I have put links on my profile to pictures of Alex's knife and his motorcycle if anyone is interested in checking them out!

~Alyssajoy

* * *

_10:02 am_

"Alright ladies and gentleman, please quiet down." The general din of the classroom slowly subsided as Mr. Williams took out an ominous looking stack of papers from his bag and let them fall to the table with a resounding thump. "As you all know, we have a test today on chapters five and six-" an audible groan swept through the students "-which I expect _all_ of you are sufficiently ready for since I informed you of it last Monday," he continued, ignoring the interruption. A light chatter erupted after this remark as various students offered up a range of excuses as to why the test should be bumped back a day.

In the back row, Alex tried to block out the noise as he poured over his notes a final time, cramming in as much information as he could. _The Fundamental Theorem of Calculus states if a function f is continuous on the interval [a, b] and if F is a function whose derivative is f on the interval (a, b), then…I am so screwed. _He gave a small groan, resisting the urge to repeatedly hit his head on his desk. There was no way he was even going to come close to passing this without a miracle.

"H-Hey, Alex?" He looked over to see Hope biting her lip hesitantly, not quite looking him in the eyes. "I forgot my pencil; do...do you have one I could borrow?"

His heart gave a little leap as her eyes flicked up momentarily to meet his before shyly darting away again. She'd sat next to him since the class started a month ago and this was the first time she'd ever spoken to him. Alex found himself silently thanking Mr. Williams for his strict pencil-only policy.

"I-I mean, if you don't…" she flushed pink, and he realized he had yet to answer her.

"No! No, I do," he said hurriedly, digging through his bag. _Idiot! Don't just sit there and look at her like an imbecile…_ He stopped mentally beating himself long enough to hand it to her with a small smile, which she timidly returned.

_Way to go, Alex. Real smooth. You used to take on corrupt billionaires and psychotic overlords, yet a girl leaves you floundering in that muggy swamp you call a brain. _He inwardly snorted before sending another glance her way out of the corner of his eye. _She's nervous, _he thought, watching her twirl a strand of her dark brown hair with one hand while the other held his pencil in a white-knuckled grip. _Wonder if that's because of the test or because of me?_

"Notebooks and textbooks away, then we'll start the test." Alex reluctantly tore his gaze away to put away his notebook as Mr. Williams began passing out the tests. "You have until the end of class to finish the test, and you must show all of your work or you won't receive full credit."

Heavy sighs echoed through the room along with a few mumbled complaints, and Alex was tempted to join in as he looked over the mass of paper he'd been given. Of the ten pages of problems, he felt prepared for maybe the first one or two. After that, well, he might as well have been trying to decipher ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. For the second time in ten minutes, Alex found himself praying for some sort of miracle.

Unfortunately, a miracle is what he got.

Looking back on this moment, Alex realized that maybe he should have been content to just wallow in his however temporary misery and fail the test, or, if not that, to at least have been more specific in what sort of miracle he was looking for. A simple fainting spell, the fire sprinklers going off, the spontaneous combustion of all the test papers – any of these would have sufficed. But Alex Rider, as all the Riders, had the luck of the devil. And the devil specialized in his own type of miracles.

They were about twenty minutes into the test when it happened. Alex was sitting there, alternating between staring discreetly in Hope's direction and gazing blankly at his desk, all the while trying to ignore the increasingly infuriating sound of pencils scratching. He was about to just give up and lay his head down on his desk when his watch made an odd clicking noise.

And then, from somewhere inside that beautiful little timepiece, came a horrendous, blaring alarm. It was as if someone had taken an old fashioned alarm clock, held it up to microphone, recorded the noise, and then distorted the sound so much that it came out as nothing more than a high-pitched warble.

Alex nearly fell out of his chair in shock before quickly recovering himself and attempting to find a button – anything – to get the noise to stop.

"Alex Rider!"

He reluctantly looked up to find the whole class staring at him - those closest with hands over their ears - with something akin to shock, while Mr. Williams had begun to turn red around his ears with rage.

"Shut that off _now_!"

"I'm trying to, sir," Alex said, struggling to keep the bite out of his voice. Honestly, what did the man think he was trying to do? "I don't know what's wrong; it's never done this before!"

He could've sworn the man's eye twitched. "Well, I suggest you leave my classroom until you figure. It. Out."

"Yes, sir," Alex muttered. He spared a single glance in Hope's direction as he got up, only to see her looking at him with…was that_ amusement?..._in her eyes.

The door to the classroom slammed shut behind him as Alex ran down the hallway, the sunshine blinding him momentarily when he burst through the double doors that led to the side of the school.

_Smithers_, he thought, taking off the watch to examine it closer, _you and I need to have a friendly little chat._ The alarm didn't show any signs of stopping, and he thought he was going to have to force open the back to take out the batteries when he noticed movement on the face of the watch. The small window that normally displayed the day of the week was now completely black with bright yellow letters scrolling through.

Obviously, Smithers expected him to have good eyesight.

He squinted down at it, catching the tail end of a word. …I..A..T..E..L..Y… The message started again, and he sighed as he read it in its entirety. _Contact MI6 Immediately. _"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered. _But if it gets this bloody alarm to shut off…_ He glanced around to see curious faces peering out from windows of nearby classrooms and the decision was made for him.

With a martyred air, he pulled out his cellphone, briefly noting he had six missed calls, and dialed the number he'd been given for emergencies. Mrs. Jones picked up before it had a chance to fully ring.

"Alex, thank God we got a hold of you." He could barely hear her voice over the alarm. "…what is that awful noise?"

"Tell Smithers to shut the alarm off!"

"What?"

"I said, tell Smithers to shut the alarm _OFF_!" He said again, clearly enunciating each word so she could understand him over the noise.

There came the muffled sounds of someone moving around and talking from the other end of the phone, and a few seconds later the watch fell silent. The resounding quiet was so sudden and so sharp that it was almost deafening.

"Alex?" Mrs. Jones reappeared on the line.

"What the _hell_ was that?" he snapped.

"I'm sorry, Alex, but we needed to get a hold of you."

He glanced over his shoulder to see that he still had an audience in various classroom windows, and with a sigh moved to an adjoining alley way that held the school's dumpsters. "You couldn't use a phone like a normal person?"

"We tried to," he thought he heard her sniff, "but you weren't answering."

"That's because I'm at school. You know, the thing _normal_ kids do? Kids who don't have freakin' _sirens _in their watches!"

"Ah, sorry about that, old chap," Smithers chuckled from somewhere in the background, leading Alex to believe he was probably on speakerphone. "That happened to be quite louder than I planned…"

"Louder than you planned on?" he growled. "All of London cou-"

Mrs. Jones interrupted him. "We don't have time for this, Alex. You need to come to the Bank immediately; something has…happened."

Alex almost chuckled in disbelief as he felt himself slowly falling back into that emotionless pit he'd dug for himself when he was fourteen. It was the only way he could protect himself from the horrors he saw on the job. And now that he had almost climbed out of that pit of depression and despair, here _they_ came again to fling him back down into the darkness.

He finally broke the silence. "You really have some nerve, Jones, calling me up like this." There was no anger in his voice, but no humor either. There was nothing. And that's what frightened him the most. "The answer is no."

"Alex, you don't understand-"

"No, I don't think you understand," he hissed. "You've already taken four years of my life, and that's all you're ever getting from me. I said no, and I mea-"

"Alex! Will you please be quiet and listen to me!" He was stunned into silence by the emotion he heard in her voice. It was barely there, but his training made it obvious to him. "This isn't about a mission. Look, I don't have time to explain it all right now, but…" She paused, as if trying to gather her thoughts. "…but we have reason to believe that you are in serious danger."

"What kind of danger?" his voice was calm but inside he felt himself slipping deeper.

"Last night, a man escaped from one of our high security facilities and the evidence shows he's coming for you."

The words "why me?" came out of his mouth, but all he could think was _why can't I just be left alone?_

She hesitated for a moment, as if she knew what he was really saying, but decided to answer the question anyway. "We have our suspicions, but none that I can voice over the phone. We need you to come to the Bank so we can figure out why this is happening and how we can best protect you."

As much as he tried to find a way around going back, he knew he didn't have a choice. This man could be anyone with any number of motives; there was no way he would be able to truly protect himself without MI6's help. "Yeah, alright," he said.

"Good." Mrs. Jones said. Alex noted the relief in her voice. "We've sent a car to pick you up. If you head to the front of the school it should be waiting for you."

He walked around to the front of the building and, sure enough, there sat a non-descript black car and two Suits that were his escorts. "I see them."

"Go ahead and go with them now; we'll take care of getting you excused from school."

He grunted in response before snapping the phone shut and sliding it into his back pocket. The Suit on the passenger's side stepped out as he approached, and Alex regarded him with limited interest. There was little to remember him by; it was why he had been chosen.

"Agent Rider?"

"I'm not an agent anymore," Alex snapped, feeling a headache coming on.

The man took this as an affirmative and opened that backseat door to let him in. Without sparing the Suit another glance, Alex slid inside, and when the door slammed behind him, he swore a little more of him died again inside.

As the car pulled away, he glanced back at the receding school and, not for the first – and certainly not the last – time, found himself wishing for normalcy. He'd come close to achieving a pseudo state of it in the last six months, hanging out with friends, making new ones, having school every day, but he couldn't deny a presence in the back of his mind that he'd never fully been able to suppress. It was his _other side_, locked into what he thought had had been an impenetrable prison; _that_ Alex would only come out when he allowed it. But in one fell swoop, MI6 had come and unhinged everything. The stone walls of that prison had started to crumble, and it wasn't long before any and all illusion of progress was shattered.

It was decided, then, that as long as he was in their jurisdiction, he was never going to be left alone. And, as that was the case, the only reasonable course of action was to leave. When this was all over, he'd move to America with Jack; use an alias, change his hair color, anything to get away from this.

A muffled thump drew him away from his reverie, and, with a hint of chagrin, he realized that he had been staring at the back of the headrest in front of him for the last five minutes. With a glance out the window he saw that they were merging into the traffic headed towards downtown London.

Another thump came and then another; it sounded as if they were coming from the trunk of the car. The two Suits up front hadn't seemed to have heard, or if they had, they were decidedly ignoring it. Warning bells had already begun to ring in Alex's head, but with each successive thump paired with what could only be muffled yelling _and_ the fact that they had just missed the turn they needed to take for the Bank, those bells had turned into a siren comparable to Smithers'. Something was very, _very_ wrong.

_You didn't check for ID's, did you? _

_Jones was on the phone with me and said they'd be there; there was no reason for me to be suspicious!_

_No reason to be suspicious? You've just been told that an escapee from maximum security is after you and you find no reason to be suspicious? You really are an idiot, you know that, Rider? After everything you've been through, suspicion should come the easiest to you._

There was no time for Alex to wonder at the fact that he'd just had an argument with and received a thorough dressing down from _himself_ – that could be saved for a later date when he _wasn't_ in a life-threatening situation. The driver must've read his mind, for a few seconds later the locks on the doors silently clicked into place. A stream of words foul enough to make the most veteran sailor blush ran through his head, but he forced himself to pretend like he hadn't noticed. The more of an idiot they thought he was, the better chance he had to get away.

"So, guys," he asked casually, "we're not going to the Bank?"

They were silent for a minute before the Suit who'd opened the door for him answered. "No. We've been instructed to take you to a secure location. Mr. Blunt thinks MI6 may have been infiltrated and decided it wasn't safe to meet there." This last statement received a sharp glare from the driver, but once again Alex played dumb and just nodded his head in understanding.

Looking out the window, he saw that they appeared to be heading into a warehouse district down by the river, and, if anything could be said about the tension that now lined his chauffers' shoulders, it could only mean that they were getting close to their destination.

He had to move. _Now._

He quietly unbuckled his seatbelt and counted down in his head as they neared the next traffic light. As the car rolled to a stop, he let the momentum add extra force to his lunge toward the seat in front of him, where he firmly boxed the unsuspecting man on the ears.

The man roared in pain as his eardrums burst, promptly dropping something that had been balanced in his lap. Alex then twisted forward through the seats, ramming an elbow down towards the driver's temple. The man had seen it coming, though, and was already moving out of range of the blow while delivering a punch to Alex's unprotected face.

If he had not rolled with the punch, Alex knew he would've been out. Black dots momentarily dotted his vision and he could taste blood welling up inside his cheek as he slammed back into his seat. He looked up to see the man grab whatever his partner had dropped and aim it at him. Recognition sunk in as the man pulled the trigger, and he barely had time to let out a single swear before the Taser's probes smashed into his chest. A few painful seconds later and he was sprawled across the back seat, gasping for air. He could feel his muscles still twitching even as the electricity evaporated.

"You shouldn't have done that, Rider." The driver gave him a sadistic smile but Alex refused to rise to the bait. A look of annoyance flashed across the man's face. "Put these on," he snapped, tossing a pair of handcuffs into his lap. "And they better be tight."

Alex didn't move. A second burst of electricity wove its way through his body and he clenched his teeth against the pain. He refused to cry out, but it left him breathless nonetheless.

"Are you going to be a good boy or am I going to have to shock you a third time?"

The patronizing tone awakened a cold fury in him, but compliance was unavoidable at the moment. Without taking his eyes from the enemy, he snapped the cuffs around his wrists, wincing as the cold metal bit into his skin.

"Charlie, quit acting like a baby and watch the kid; I gotta drive."

The red-faced (now partially deaf) man pulled his head out from between his knees while aiming a slew of swears at his partner. "The kid %&*$# busted my ear drums!" he snatched the Taser from him. "Don't you dare call me a baby!"

The driver didn't respond, but rather turned his attention back to the traffic light. The whole scene had taken place in less than a minute and a half and it was another two until the light turned green.

Ignoring the steady gaze of hate the man in front of him was sending his way, Alex put his mind to the task at hand – namely figuring how such a simple wish to get out of a Maths test could go so horribly wrong.

* * *

I'll be getting the next one up as soon as possible. In the meantime, please take a minute to review and tell me what you thought! Thanks!


	4. Chapter 3

Thank you for everyone who read and reviewed last time – you don't know what an encouragement it is to a stressed college student.

I'm super excited about this chapter because I finally get to write in my favorite characters *cough*K-Unit*cough*. Much more of them to come, I guarantee it!

A huge thank you to Pygmymeese for her ever-vigilant eye in editing and improving my story!

Finally, I do not own Alex Rider. It's all Mr. Horowitz.

* * *

_10:47 am_

"Go ahead and go with them now; we'll take care of getting you excused from school."

A muttered grunt and a dial tone was all the response she got. Mrs. Jones sighed and hung up the phone, rubbing her temples in an attempt to ward off the headache brewing behind her eyes. She'd been hoping to allow Alex to initiate contact with MI6 again when he was ready, or, if nothing else, start off again on better terms, but all hope of that now seemed dissolved. There'd been no mistaking the anger and accusations directed at her over the phone, and she knew they weren't misplaced. Who'd have known that when she'd signed up as a paper-pusher twenty-one years ago that she'd eventually graduate to a hardened business woman capable of exploiting the youth of an orphan?

"I really didn't know that it would be that loud."

Her eyes slid from the dark wood of the conference room table to the grossly overweight man crushing the chair next to her. Smithers cracked his knuckles nervously under her weighty glance, and her eyes softened minutely as she regained composure. "I know. It just wasn't supposed to happen this way." He nodded in understanding.

Though she would've never admitted it, Smithers was the one person she wholly trusted when it came to situations regarding Alex. He filled the role of concerned adult when her position restricted her from doing so, and he had yet to question any special, unofficial orders she'd given him. Their relationship, while strictly professional, had matured into a camaraderie of sorts, forced under the pressure of quietly ensuring the safety of their youngest coworker.

"He isn't going to go quietly."

She smiled in grim humor. "I would be worried if he did. No one likes to be babysat."

Smithers muttered something unintelligible in response.

"Mrs. Jones?" A disembodied voice floated through the room from the phone's intercom.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Blunt and General Collins are on their way up."

"Thank you, Angela." She barely repressed a sigh; she was not looking forward to the coming fireworks. "Smithers, you'd better get going."

The man nodded, already packing up his laptop. Smithers wanted to be nowhere near the fifteenth floor when Blunt and Collins went head to head – the tension between the two was legendary. He'd be worried if Jones wasn't here to keep the peace. Suddenly, he stopped, thinking. "You know, I have an extra can of Sunshine Yellow air freshener. In case things get out of hand…" he offered with a shrug.

Mrs. Jones' lips twitched. "As tempting as that may sound, I'm afraid using a highly potent compliance drug would only improve matters temporarily before making them dramatically worse."

"Ah, well," Smithers grinned as he squeezed himself up out of the chair, "you know where to find me if you change your mind."

The lip twitch turned into a matching small grin. "Let's pray it isn't that bad."

Five minutes later, the two gentlemen joined Mrs. Jones in the conference room. Mr. Blunt took a seat at one end of the table while General Collins, a tall, formidable looking man with a scowl to match, took a seat at the other.

"Mrs. Jones," the man greeted her coldly.

"General." She gave the slightest nod of her head as she settled herself in between the men.

"I assume you know about the escape from Blackthorne last night," Blunt said after a moment. If either of the other two occupants of the room were surprised by the abruptness of his statement, they hid it well. The head of MI6, after all, was not known for his pleasantries.

"I am aware. I was ordered by MI5 to have my men on standby."

"And were you aware that Patient 273 is still a person of international concern and, as such, MI6 has taken over the case indefinitely?"

The subtle tone of condescension was unmistakable, but Collins ignored it. He'd been in the military too long to let a little man like Blunt get to him. "I was not," he said coolly. Silence flooded the room as the men stared at each other in an obvious struggle for dominance.

"General," Mrs. Jones cleared her throat. The tension in the room seemed to diminish ever so slightly as they were reminded of her presence. "What I think Alan is trying to say is that the cooperation of the SAS is essential to the success of this operation. Therefore, MI6 would like to keep you as informed as possible."

Everyone knew 'Alan' wouldn't have exactly put it that way, but, wisely, no one said anything of it.

The general studied Mrs. Jones for a minute while she quietly unwrapped a peppermint with a deft twist of her fingers and popped it into her mouth. Apparently not finding what he wanted, he sighed in resignation. No matter how diplomatically she put it, their cooperation wasn't a request.

"And what...assistance…" the word had an edge of bitterness when he spoke it, "can the SAS provide MI6 this time?"

The empty peppermint wrapper went back into the briefcase it had come from and was exchanged for a stack of folders. She slid them across the table to him. Blunt started talking as soon as he opened the first one.

"Brendon Day – also known as Patient 273 – first appeared on MI6's radar in 1997 as the head of a small trafficking company in India. From what we know about him, he grew up in a small town in Cornwall. He was classified as a juvenile delinquent from an early age and had frequent run-ins with local authorities. At the age of seventeen, he ran away from home to South Asia where he dropped off the map entirely.

"Recent intel shows that early on he was recruited as a runner for a local drug dealer, and from there he made his way up, eventually becoming the leader of a company specializing in trafficking illegal arms and drugs after the previous leader was mysteriously murdered. Under his leadership, this small business quickly expanded to become one of the largest in all of South Asia. His customers ranged anywhere from small independent terrorist groups to large scale criminal organization such as Scorpia and the Chinese Triads."

Here Blunt stopped and Mrs. Jones smoothly picked up where he left off.

"Day was ruthless. Reports came in of his ordering entire families killed for the mistake of one member or villages burned to the ground because they failed to produce enough opium. He was impossible to catch. All the agents we sent to infiltrate were returned to us in several more pieces than we sent them."

General Collins flinched a little. It wasn't so much at the thought – he was an experienced war veteran after all – but at the unaffected tone in which Jones spoke of her own people being ruthlessly murdered.

Mrs. Jones continued without pause, either ignoring or failing to notice the general's discomfort. "It wasn't until early 2005 that we got our first break. We were contacted by a man who claimed he worked for Day and wanted to defect. This man had risen quickly in the company and soon discovered that there was more to Day's sadism than was let on. Many of those closer to him actually questioned his sanity. In fact, if you look at Day's records from Blackthorne," she gestured to the files under his hand, "you'll see that upon his arrival he was diagnosed with malevolent antisocial personality disorder which had been severely enhanced by years of drug abuse."

Here Blunt took over again, obviously not fond of getting caught up on the particulars. "The man said that in return for getting him safely out of the country, he would provide us with the information we needed to shut Day down for good. We agreed…once we were assured of his loyalties." The strange glint in Blunt's eye as he said this made Collins feel a pang of pity for the defector. "We then acted on the intel he gave us and intercepted Day as he was attempting to leave France and systematically dissolved the organization. A few of the higher ups evaded capture, but we believed they wouldn't dare crawl from their holes for a very long time…"

General Collins couldn't help the small smirk that made its way to his lips at Blunt's expense. The head of MI6 had always been too cocky for his own good. "You underestimated them, then?" To his satisfaction, the color began to rise to Blunt's cheeks at the subtle mockery in the question.

"We believe they are a_ part _of it, yes," Mrs. Jones answered, the peppermint rolling across her tongue to the inside of her cheek. "But it's not plausible that they did it by themselves. We believe there is a larger organization financing it; though by whom and for what purpose we have no idea." At this statement she and Blunt seemed to exchange glances, but she quickly turned her attention back to General Collins.

"I understand you have your men on standby?" He nodded. "I'll get you in contact with Agent Peters, who's been put in charge of the field operation, and you two can discuss the tactical side of things. That's not our main concern at the moment."

Collins was surprised, but not because he hadn't expected as much. Blunt would never call him in just to give him information that could have been relayed via teleconference, and they certainly hadn't brought him in because they missed him. The only rational conclusion was that MI6 had an ulterior motive. No, he was surprised that they would reveal as much so soon. This was an agency, after all, that thrived on secrecy.

Mrs. Jones dug into the black suede briefcase once more, only to produce a crumpled scrap of paper. "When our agents searched Day's room at Blackthorne, they found this stuffed into a hole in the mattress," she said, handing it to him.

The crumpled paper looked like nothing more than a page torn out of a book. It was ripped and dirty, but the words were still legible. "A nursery rhyme. That's a first," he muttered. "What does the code say?"

"Send him to his parents."

"Send him to his parents?" the man raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Blunt said.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"We believe, General," Mrs. Jones said, "that those are instructions to kill one of our top operatives." The apparent disbelief in his eyes encouraged her to expand. "I assume you remember the Rider incident that occurred some seventeen years ago?"

He nodded. John Rider was a man of legend within the various government divisions.

"Rider had a son, who has – more or less – followed in his father's footsteps," she continued on. "During his time in the field he has gained many enemies, not to mention those of his father who still remain…"

Collins wasn't sure whether the sentence was purposely left hanging, but his brows furrowed at its implication. "You can't believe Scorpia is behind this; they were destroyed four years ago."

Another look passed between the two heads of MI6, and he came to an apparent realization that this was a topic of tension between the two.

"We aren't sure of anything at the moment." The sentence was purposely vague, as he certainly wouldn't be privy to any insight that even they were undecided about. "However, we want to take every precaution to secure his safety."

"So you want us to babysit for you," Collins said in disgust.

Mrs. Jones had an uncharacteristic urge to roll her eyes. It seemed that everyone was determined to make this situation out to be as bad as possible. "If you choose to think of it that way, then yes."

Collins pursed his lips. "With all due respect, I believe my men would be of more use out in the field than watching over an agent of yours. Don't you have Suits for that anyway?"

Blunt's eye seemed to twitch at the derogatory name for his employees, but said nothing, causing the general mild surprise. Frankly, the man's whole countenance today put him on edge. Not only was the man more emotionally reactive than he'd ever seen him (though it was very possible marble statues might still have more feeling), but Mrs. Jones had done a majority of the talking during this meeting. Blunt was a control freak by nature, which either meant that this situation was more serious than they intended to let on, or the man really disliked him so much that he couldn't open his mouth and still be an unaffected prat.

"We would only be requiring one of your units, and I believe the one we have requested would, given their prior working relationship, have an easier time…" she seemed to grope for an appropriate word "…handling…him than any of our agents would."

"Hell, Jones. You make him sound like he's a wild animal."

She gave a small, grim smile as she thought back to the first time she'd seen Alex in action, his blond hair waving in the wind as he hung from the flagpole outside the building. The years he had worked for them had only strengthened the inner untamed side that had been nurtured in him since he was a child. Alex was capable of hiding it very well, but she knew it was never far from the surface. In fact, the last time she'd seen him, she couldn't help but noting how remarkably like a grinning lion he looked. Deceptively innocent. Deadly.

"That may be a closer comparison than you think, General," she said quietly.

The man raised an eyebrow questioningly but pursued the topic no further. "You said you had a specific unit in mi-"

The door of the conference room burst open and in stumbled a tall, dark haired man in a stiffly pressed suit. "Mr. Blunt…" he said breathlessly.

"Crawley," Blunt nearly growled.

"I just came…from 3rd floor…" he said, gulping for air. "Rider's car…has gone off course…"

The occupants of the room froze. "Are you sure?"

Crawley nodded, taking a deep breath as he tried to regain his composure. "…It's stopped at a warehouse by the river about three miles from here. Smithers confirmed that Alex was still in the car."

"Why were we not informed the second it deviated from its route?" Mrs. Jones snapped.

The agent's jaw worked, trying to come up with an answer, but General Collins spoke before he had time to make any excuse. "You sent him to be picked up without any backup?" Undisguised disbelief and disgust filled his tone, and he thought he almost saw Mrs. Jones flush in embarrassment.

"We didn't think Day would be able to mobilize so quickly!"

The general shook his head. MI6 had a reputation of being careless with their people, but this was unbelievable. By the time they got a plan of attack together and gathered the necessary man and firepower, they'd be lucky if they reached the location in time. The way Blunt was flinging orders at the man at the door suggested that he was well aware of this fact, too. "-contact MI5, get a hold of Director Samuels, and send Agent Peters up here immediately!"

"General Collins," Mrs. Jones said, the tension lines around her mouth and eyes unusually visible. "It looks like we're going to need your men sooner than expected."

He merely nodded, reaching for his Blackberry and quickly dialing the number of his second-in-command. "Davidson," he barked, "I want all units suited up and ready to depart in five minutes…"

* * *

_10:40 am_

Brendon Day surveyed the warehouse around him in gleeful expectation. Soon the air would be filled with the sound of bullets ricocheting off the metal walls and the yells of men as they tried to maintain their formations. It was reminiscent of his time in India; the feeling of invisibility, the ability to decide the fate of a man with one movement of his lips.

But today – this operation – was somehow different. Maybe it was the six years he'd spent in that hellhole they called a hospital. Maybe it was because he'd experienced the sting of defeat and the bitterness of betrayal. Somehow, this…this…_game_, he smiled at the word, was so much sweeter than it had ever been before.

Maybe it was because today was the end.

"Sir?" A heavily armed man appeared by his side.

Day didn't look at him, but from the corner of his eye he could see the man's rigid posture and the sweat that dotted his brow. The man was scared of him – a fact that Day relished in. "Yes?" he said softly, like a predator trying to reassure its prey.

"T-The car has arrived, sir. The men are trying to subdue him now."

Day let a malicious grin spread across his face. "Perfect."

The messenger shifted the assault rifle in his hands nervously, and Day's gaze snapped to him, grin slipping from his face. "Are you still here?" he asked icily.

Eyes widening in terror, the man backed a few steps away before turning on his heels and hurrying towards the door. Seconds after it slammed shut, it opened again to admit two large figures dragging a smaller one between them.

As the pseudo-Suits neared, Day couldn't help but smirk at their harried appearance. Between a noticeable limp, the dried blood tracks coming from one man's ears, and several well-placed bruises, it appeared that the boy was everything he'd been told he would be.

The teenager himself hung limply between them, hands cuffed behind his back. From what could be seen of his face, it was obvious that for every hit he'd landed, he'd received at least two in return, and there was no mistaking the spasms that wracked the small frame.

"I hope you haven't hurt him too much," Day said, frowning slightly as the trio stopped in front of him, "or else he won't be able to play today."

The man with the limp grunted, hefting the boy up a little to get a better grip on his arm. "Ran down the taser just trying to get his hands behind his back, but he should be fine in an hour or two."

Day studied the teen a moment longer before stepping forward and gently lifting the blond head with a finger under the boy's chin. The brown eyes that met his burned with hate, sending a shiver of excitement down his spine; he could tell he was _not_ going to be disappointed.

"Alex Rider in the flesh," he said, watching in amazement as the dark eyes grew even darker. "This day has been long in the making."

He drew his hand away and turned around, taking a few steps as he reveled in the thrill of the moment. "No doubt MI6 has already told you about me, although unfortunately for you, Blunt was always too cocky for his own good. Two men? Hardly suitable protection for their top agent."

Turning back, he saw that Alex had managed to find his feet and was now standing in rigid defiance despite the pain that flickered across his face. "I don't work for them anymore." The boy's voice was low and rough. "I haven't for almost six months."

Day nodded; this wasn't news to him. "I congratulate you on your…freedom," the word, dripping in condescension, flowed off his tongue like silk, "but you didn't honestly think that you could just leave your old life behind, did you? That all of your enemies clamoring for your blood would be satisfied while you were still alive?" From the way Alex's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, he could tell that he had found the teen's weak spot and decide to twist the knife in a little further. "Did you really think you would be _safe?_ Honestly, boy. Without me, you would have been killed the very hour you resigned from MI6."

"Why?" The teen's face looked pale under the bruising. "Why would you stop them?"

"Why?" he scoffed," don't you think you should be _thanking_ me? I gave you six months of normalcy, and all you do is ask me why?"

"Just tell me what the hell you want from me."

Day chuckled. The boy was very good. The subtle tells of emotion that had been there seconds ago were gone, replaced by stony indifference. It was too late, though; his reaction had already told him all he needed to know.

"All I want, Alex, is for you to come to my party tonight. After all, I'm throwing it in _your_ honor." He smiled broadly, finding pleasure in the confusion that found its way onto the boy's face; it was always exciting to have a new mind to play with. "You see," he continued, "there are several organizations that would like to see you exterminated. So, in return for breaking me out of Blackthorne – plus a small sum of twelve million pounds – I agreed to do it for them. But don't worry, I know how you teens operate, and that's why I want to assure you that you'll have a grand party to celebrate your last night on earth!"

Alex's mouth hung open for a few seconds before he found his voice. "You're bloody insane!"

Day nodded gravely. "That's what the doctors at the hospital kept telling me. However, they're all dead now, so I don't see how their opinion really matters." The boy just stared at him, causing him to crack another grin. "Anyway, the great thing is that they told me I could do it however I wanted, as long as I got it done. Therefore, I tried to make it as fun as possible for you!"

"You tried to make my death as fun as possible," Alex echoed dully, as if trying to understand what he was hearing.

"Exactly! And mind you, it wasn't easy, but I think I finally figured it out." A rush of excitement filled him as he began; this was nearly a year in the making, and the ball was finally starting to roll. "Your final mission will be to find and collect four other guests that are to attend the party with you and arrive at the instructed location by midnight tonight, all while avoiding capture by MI6."

"That's impossible! London is being combed by MI6's agents right now; they'd spot me the moment I stepped outside."

"Alex, Alex, Alex," he tutted, "you and I both know that's a lie. You didn't survive four years at MI6 because you were lucky. However, if I do happen to see you talking to anyone other than the four guests you are to pick up, I might just have to detonate those bombs I planted at St. Dominic's this morning."

The boy studied him intently, no doubt trying to decide whether he believed him or not. Day really hoped that he didn't – it would be so much more fun to prove it to him. "You're lying," Alex finally said.

Day dug into his pocket and produced a small remote with three buttons of different colors. Emphasizing his movements so that the boy was sure to see what he was doing, he pushed the middle, yellow one. A split second later, a shockwave ripped through the room from an explosion outside the warehouse. Day laughed as the three in front of him jumped in surprise then craned their necks around to see what had happened.

"I do believe that was the car you came in, Alex, though it is a pity - I don't think those two agents in the trunk are going to make it."

The teen snapped his head around, eyes smoldering with fury.

"Don't look at me that way." Day slipped the remote back into his pocket, "Yes; I killed them, but it was for a good cause. Now you believe me. I'm not a terrorist, Alex, but I will be if you force my hand."

Day was about to say something else when his phone rang. It was a call he had been expecting, so he answered it without hesitation. "Yes?"

"Forces are in route, four SAS units, twelve agents, and one special package." The voice on the other end spoke in a rushed whisper.

"ETA?"

"Six minutes at the most. The explosion sent them into an uproar."

He snapped the phone shut and slid it back into his pocket, looking thoughtful. The fun was about to begin sooner than expected. "Well, Mr. Rider, I do believe our time is up. I'm expecting company soon and I have things to do. Remember the rules I told you." Two men appeared behind him, one stopping next to him while the other approached the boy with syringe in hand.

"Wait!" Alex struggled against the hands that held him. "How am I supposed to find these people? Where am I supposed to go?"

The needle slipped into the teen's arm and Day watched impassively as the brown eyes started to flutter close. "You're smart, Alex. I'm sure you'll figure it out." Seconds later, the boy went limp, and he nodded to the men holding him up. "You know what to do."

Without a second glance at them as they left, dragging the teen back the way they entered, he turned to the man next to him. "Brown said four units, twelve agents, and one specialty. They'll be here in five – I want your men ready in one."

"Yes, sir."

"None of them are to be killed; they are to be brought here and lined up against the wall. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

Just as the man turned to leave, Day remembered one more thing. "Johnson!"

"Yes, sir?"

"The specialty, I want him hooded before he is brought down with the others."

"Yes, sir."

When he was finally alone again, he pulled his handgun from its holster and checked it for ammunition. Although he probably wouldn't get to use it, it was always good to be prepared. Satisfied, he put it back, folded his hands behind his back, and waited.

Almost exactly five minutes later, the shooting started, and, in less than twenty, all twenty-nine men sent to apprehend him were lined up in front of him, most on their knees with their hands behind their head, and those who were too injured to do so were seated behind them against the wall. The specialty, who had a hood over his head and his hands zip-tied behind his back, sat in the corner. All had been relieved of their weapons; all were heavily guarded; and all looked murderous. They hadn't stood a chance.

Day took this all in cheerfully; so far everything was going off without a hitch. But that was to be expected – his plan was perfect. "Gentlemen!" he said, ignoring the low growl this brought forth from them. "I'm going to make this very simple. I have four names here; when I call them out, these men have ten seconds to identify themselves. I will kill one man for every second after that they don't."

He pulled out the list from his pocket, even though it wasn't necessary. He knew the names – even the faces – of the men; he'd spotted them the minute they'd been brought in. None of that mattered, though. The reasons for this were purely psychological.

"I need Teo Alvarez, Mackenzie Sutherland, Henry Stewart, and Ben Daniels," he said, watching carefully for a reaction as each name was read off. There were none. The men had been trained too well. He shrugged to himself, returned the list to his pocket, and began the countdown.

"Ten.

"Nine.

"Eight.

"Seven."

There was nothing but silence as he pulled out his gun.

"Six.

"Five."

He stepped up to the closest man and aimed, noting how the man's jaw clenched slightly in fear.

"Four.

"_Three_."

He switched off the safety.

"_Two_."

"I'm Teo Alvarez," a voice called out, slicing through the silence.

Day looked up to see a stocky, dark haired man slowly stand up with his hands raised. "And the other three?" he asked, keeping his gun trained on the sweating soldier in front of him. The words had barely left his mouth before three more men carefully stood up, keeping their hands fully visible. "See, that wasn't so hard," he said, smiling. He received no response – not that he'd been expecting one. With a pointed look at Johnson, he turned and headed towards the door, his smile only growing wider as the man's shouts echoed throughout the room.

"Alright, men, time to head out! You know your instructions! Backup forces will most likely be here within six minutes, and I expect all of you to be outside ready to move in two…"

Johnson's voice faded and all but disappeared as Day left the building and climbed into the back seat of the waiting car. As the driver took off, leaving the building further and further behind, one thought echoed above all in his head.

Today was the day.

* * *

Please leave a review and let me know any questions, comments, general thoughts, etc. on the story!


	5. Chapter 4

Hey everyone! Thanks for the overwhelming response to my last chapter–I couldn't believe it!

I hope you're enjoying the story so far and that you're ready for one heckuva ride! This chapter, although it's short, is the tipping point and is going to officially kick off 'the game'. Let's see how Alex fairs, shall we?

Once again, thanks to my beta pygmymeese for her quick and efficient editing.

Disclaimer: Alex Rider and all recognizable characters belong to Anthony Horowitz.

* * *

_12:57pm _

The first thing he did was swear. Not a short, simple swear–no, it was a long, drawn-out, multi-lingual swear in which he cursed the heartless souls at MI6 and all the trouble they brought with them. It was a swear for every time he'd woken up in some miserable, unfamiliar location, for every bruise and broken bone he'd ever gotten while "working" for them, for his teenage innocence stolen without care or compensation. Then he swore again as he opened his eyes and was blinded by what little sunlight streamed in through a grimy window.

He didn't even bother trying to stand; rather, Alex slowly sat up and leaned to the side, anticipating what would come next. Sure enough, this minute movement was enough to practically paralyze him with dizziness and was followed by the prompt and complete emptying of his stomach.

_You know your life is bad when you've got a routine for waking up from a drug induced sleep_, he thought bitterly. Wiping his mouth off on his sleeve, he surveyed his surroundings.

He was in the middle of a large, empty room that was undoubtedly the living room of a house–an abandoned house, if the condition had anything to say about it. The once white walls were now yellow and a suspicious looking green; long strips of peeling paint drooped off of them like wilted flowers and littered the brown, crusty carpet. A dilapidated wooden crate was the room's only furnishing, and a glance out the dirt-smeared windows did little to tell him of his location other than that he was in a neighborhood of similar condition. But above all else, Alex could tell he was alone. It was the way the silence was so thick it was almost numbing; the way his senses remained quiet despite the stressfulness of the situation.

Content that he was safe for the time being, he assessed his own injuries. Besides the usual side effects of the drug he'd been given–pounding head, dry mouth, nausea–he could feel a patchwork of bruises forming on his torso and face. His muscles screamed in protest with every movement, still stiff and tight from the electricity that had passed through them. All in all, he wasn't that bad off, which he knew was only because Day wanted him to be able to "play" today.

Alex's stomach twisted in disgust as he remembered the conversation between them. Six months off "work" had thrown him out of practice. In the split second that he had lost it, the man had read him like an open book. Day had found Alex's fear. The fear that he wouldn't–couldn't–ever be normal again. That every day for the rest of his life he'd be looking over his shoulder, wondering if there was someone out there who was waiting for the right moment to get their revenge. That every night he would have to deal with the atrocities he'd seen or be haunted by the pale, wraith-like faces of enemies killed. That even if he survived today, he would only have another scar to deal with.

_Maybe I'll get lucky today, then,_ he thought grimly. _Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori__.* _

Leaning heavily on his left arm, he brought up his right, glanced at his watch, and swore again. Not only at the time, but at the fact that Day had taken Smithers' watch and replaced it with a cheap, plastic knock-off. There went any chance of MI6 tracking him–not to mention that Alex had _really_ liked that watch.

He hauled himself to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. Instantly, he noticed a difference of weight in his boot, and a quick search revealed his knife to be missing as well. Anger welled up inside him at the thought of Day possessing the last thing his uncle had given to him.

"Why not?" he chuckled darkly and turned towards the door. "Let's just see how terrible of a day we can make it."

Alex began to limp his way out of the room when his eye was caught by something glinting in the sunshine. Turning towards whatever it was, he saw his pocket knife sticking out from the top of the wooden crate. The stark relief of seeing it lasted only a moment before he noticed the papers pinned underneath the blade.

It was a map of the city of London, brand new and folded neatly, on top of which sat a torn, smudged piece of notebook paper. Block letters in blue ink were written carefully on the lines. He yanked the knife from the wood and placed it back in his boot before picking up the top note and reading it apprehensively.

**Squawking birdie sits up high**

**All forlorn, no wings to fly.**

**Can little Alex save him from this fix**

**Or will birdie fall dead among the bricks?**

**On Biltmoure Street you'll find the site**

**Where Guest One sits and awaits his knight. **

"What is this, a bloody scavenger hunt?" he whispered to himself. Day's words came back to him and he shuddered. _I tried to make it as fun as possible for you_. The man was a mental case through and through.

Alex had no choice, though. As much as he hated being at St. Dominics, there was no way he was going to allow Day to kill all of those innocent people.

Contact with MI6 looked impossible at the moment as well. But, then again, he'd gotten out of similar situations before without their help…

He shook his head at the thought; he was lying to himself. He'd had a perfect record up until now, but somehow this situation made him feel like this time it was different. Like his luck had just run out.

Pushing the sense of forbearing aside, Alex spread out the map in front of him with a sigh. _Looks like I'm headed to Biltmoure Street._

* * *

*How sweet and fitting it is to die for country

Thanks for reading! Please take a moment and leave a review for an overworked college student! Got any questions? Guesses? Advice? Let me know!


	6. Chapter 5

Thank you for all of your support thus far and I hope you enjoy this new chapter – I certainly enjoyed writing it!

Once again, thanks to pygmymeese for being my beta!

**Disclaimer: **Alex Rider and all recognizable characters belong to Anthony Horowitz.

* * *

_1:32 pm _

Alex found the street without much difficulty thanks to the map and–though he'd rather not admit it–the navigational skills he'd learned while at Brecon Beacons when he was fourteen. While that place would always be his own personal Hell-on-earth, the skills it had pounded into him there had saved his life more times than he cared to count.

Biltmoure Street was part of a developing suburb of London, consisting mostly of construction trailers and skeletal frames of skyscrapers. The half-finished steel structures glinted in the sunlight, winking ominously at him.

The one thing that was immediately apparent was that the place was oddly deserted for a weekday. All of the construction machines, from the beginning of the road to as far as he could see, were silent. That was never a good sign.

Wheeling his motorcycle (which Day had most graciously left by the front door of the abandoned house) off the road and over behind one of the trailers, he pulled out the paper with the clue on it.

**Squawking birdie sits up high**

**All forlorn, no wings to fly.**

**Can little Alex save him from this fix**

**Or will birdie fall dead among the bricks?**

**On Biltmoure Street you'll find the site**

**Where Guest One sits and awaits his knight. **

It was obvious that whoever he was supposed to pick up was somewhere up high in a construction site, but that didn't help much, given the fact that the whole _street_ was a construction site. He sighed and started walking, keeping his eyes towards the sky in hopes of spotting something.

Alex had gone about twenty meters before he came upon a large arrow drawn in the dirt that covered the road. It pointed off to the right, past a high chain link fence and into what was apparently "soon to be the hippest condominiums in London!" He had to shake his head at the cheesiness of the advertisement. Who even used the word "hip" anymore?

As he rounded a large pile of dirt, he nearly ran into a shoddy wooden table that had been placed in the middle of the path. It was empty except for a cheap children's walkie-talkie, the kind that only had one frequency and a range of about 100 meters.

_Well, here goes nothing._ He sighed, switched on the device, and pressed the button on the side. "Hello?" he said a bit hesitantly.

There were a few moments of silence before the line crackled to life again. "Hello?" the voice on the other end sounded strained, rushed, and…familiar? "Hello?" the voice said again with a bit more force. "Listen, whoever this is, I am an SAS operative and require immediate assistance…"

Alex groaned as the light bulb blinked on. Day was not only crazy, but a bloody sadist too.

"…don't know my exact location, but I think I'm in the bucket of a large piece of construction equipment. I need you to go get the authorities as fast as you can…"

Alex tuned the man out as he scanned the site before him. There was only one machine that he could see big enough to be a prison for a grown man–the hydraulic excavator. He guesstimated that the bucket was probably 35 feet from the ground, and, jogging closer, he saw it was even worse than that. The 100 ton machine was parked at the edge of a large pit, meaning at least another twenty feet was added to the distance.

"…are you still there? Hello? Hello! Can you still here me? Hello!" the man's voice, rising in panic, pulled Alex back to reality.

He sighed. _Is he still talking? _"Shut up, Eagle, I'm trying to think."

The line abruptly fell silent before Eagle's voice returned, quiet and threatening. "Who is this?"

Alex rolled his eyes. He could just imagine the man glaring at the walkie-talkie in his hand. "I'll give you a hint–I'm not the tooth fairy."

Silence again, then a strangled, "Cub?"

"No dip, Sherlock. Who else would recognize your whiny voice?"

A growl reverberated from the other end and Alex bit back a smirk as he pulled open the cabin door. Poking his head in, he swore. No keys.

"Cub, what the hell are you doing here? You know what? Never mind. You need to get MI6 right now; we have a major situation."

"Not an option right now, Eagle," he replied shortly, rummaging around the cab in search of a spare key.

"Why n–…" Silence. "This is all your fault, isn't it?"

"I'd say that's a bit harsh."

Eagle swore. "Every time something like this happens, you're always behind it!"

Alex didn't bother voicing his agreement. He knew he attracted trouble, and he didn't need to be reminded how awful it felt every time someone he knew got dragged in because of it. _Tom…_ The painful thought was shoved roughly away in an instant. Now was _not_ the time to be thinking about that. He couldn't. He would lose it if he did.

He stuck his hand underneath the seat and felt around, but all he came up with was a half-empty pack of chewing tobacco, a soiled kleenax, and a wealth of cigarette butts. Crinkling his nose in disgust, he tossed them out the door. A thorough search of the rest of the cab proved fruitless, and he eventually flopped down into the driver's seat with a sigh of defeat. Eagle had fallen silent as well, as if he had somehow sensed that now was not the moment to antagonize the teen any further.

Alex dropped his head into his hands. The drug was still giving him a headache, as was his current predicament. He not only had to find a way to get Eagle down, but drag the man –one of the last people he wanted to see– all around the bloody city, too. Fantastic.

"Cub?" Alex flinched as the walkie-talkie in his hand came to life again. "Are you still there?"

The boy lifted his head tiredly. "Yeah, I'm still here, Eagle. I was trying to find a key, but it's not here."

"Oh…"

Alex felt a stab of pity for the soldier. The end of spring was approaching, and with it came long, sweltering, sunny days like today. Without a shred of protection, the man was probably roasting alive up there. "Eagle, could you climb out of the bucket and down the boom?"

"That's a negative," came the reply. "My hands are cuffed and the bucket is too deep."

The teen slammed his fist against the control panel. _Think, Alex. What would Ian do in this situation? What would dad do? _Nothing came to him. He slammed the control panel again in frustration, and something clattered to the floor of the cabin. His eyes widened as he looked down and saw that one of the panels by his feet had fallen off, revealing a mess of wires.

_Remember Alex,_ Ian's voice whispered in his head. _Anything with an engine can be hotwired; the important part is knowing how to do it._

But the wiring of a car and the wiring of an excavator were nothing alike. He could tell just by looking at it. The remaining part of Ian's lecture came to him as he considered trying anyway. _If you aren't certain how to do it, Alex, don't try. Cross the wrong wires and you run the risk of shorting out the machine's internal computer. It will be of no use to anyone, then. _

"Well that's bloody brilliant," Alex snorted. "Now I just need to find someone who specializes in stealing three-story-tall construction machines."

"What's the status down there, Cub?"

Alex looked down at the walkie-talkie in his hand, wondering how truthful he should be with the man. If their places were switched, he knew he'd want to know exactly what was going on, no matter how bad it was. With a sigh, he pushed the button and replied. "Not good, Eagle. Not unless you know…how…to…" he trailed off, jaw dropping as he suddenly realized what an idiot he was being. "Eagle!"

"What? What's wrong?" the man demanded.

"You're the unit's engineer, yeah?" _How did I not remember that!_

"…yeah?"

Alex was now smiling despite himself. "How much do you know about hotwiring?"

"A bit, why?" Alex didn't respond; Eagle would figure it out in _3…2…1…_ "Wait! You can't be serious, Cub. You need an electrical or mechanical engineer, not a computer engineer!"

"Same thing."

"Not even close!"

"Oh, come on, Eagle!" Alex snapped. "It's either that or you roast up there until the construction crews come back tomorrow morning." _And St. Dominics goes up in flames,_ he thought grimly."Besides, you must've taken at least _one_ class at University on electrical engineering."

"I did take one my second year," the man admitted. "But that was almost seven years ago!" he added hurriedly.

"Well, that's our only option at the minute–unless you have a better plan?" There was a long pause before Eagle sighed and grudgingly admitted that he didn't. "Right, then. I've already found the panel with the wiring in it. What am I looking for?"

"Umm…tell me what you're seeing."

Alex scrunched down to get a better view of the compartment. "There are about fifteen to twenty wires of different sizes and colors."

"Crap."

"What?"

"I was hoping there'd only be like two or something; it would make it so much easier. What else?"

Alex rolled his eyes, but continued. "The wires are separated into two bundles held together by plastic ties, and all of them lead up to a large black box."

"Alright, cut the ties around the wires so you can get a better look at them, but make sure not to cut any by mistake."

Biting back a sarcastic response, the teen pulled the knife from his boot and got to work. Soon all the wires were spread out before him. "Now what?"

"Find the two largest wires–they should be the same color, and- wait; maybe it's the two smallest… Or were you supposed to cross the largest and the smallest?"

"Which is it?" Alex growled.

"Uhh…give me a second here…"

Alex gritted his teeth as the second ticked by. "Eagle!"

"Okay! Okay! I got it, alright? It's the two largest."

Alex lifted up the two thickest green wires with the blade of his knife. "Are you sure?"

"Not at all."

"Fantastic," he muttered. He paused and sent up a quick prayer before gripping the first wire firmly in his hand and yanking the knife through it with a snap. Taking the end still attached to the black box, he stripped off the plastic casing at the tip to expose the copper wiring. He repeated the process with the other wire, leaving him with two highly powerful live wires in his hands. "Alright, hold on to your skivvies, Eagle; I'm giving it a go."

"Roger that, Cub. Skivvies held." The man's tone was light and jocular, but there was no mistaking the underlying tension in it as well.

Unconsciously holding his breath, Alex brought the two tips together. A bright blue spark of electricity flowed between them with a pop, and he could feel the machine under him rumbling as it attempted to start. He touched them together again and the engine surged before dying off again. "Come on, come on!" he whispered. The wires met for a third time, and- "YES!" -the excavator roared to life. "What do you know, the idiot was right," he grinned slightly, sitting back on his heels.

His celebration was cut short, however, as Eagle's panicked voice suddenly ripped through the cab. "Cub! Shut it off! SHUT IT OFF!"

Alex's head shot up over console. What he saw made his stomach twist in horror. The bucket had, ever-so-slowly, begun to dump.

* * *

**Please share any thoughts, questions, or criticism with me! Review!**


	7. Chapter 6

**Finally, an update! This chapter was tricky, dear readers, but I think it's finally been subdued with the help of my faithful beta, pygmymeese. Thanks for all of your reviews thus far – they really are food for a writer's soul!**

**Anonymous: Thanks so much for your review, and you were completely right. Would you believe me if I told you that I came up with the name Gray's Inn Street off the top of my head? You were right in correcting me, though, and it definitely shows the importance of research when writing about things you don't know. I have change the street name (after making sure the new one wasn't real), and again I thank you for letting me know!**

* * *

1:46 pm

_Alex's head shot up over console. What he saw made his stomach twist in horror. The bucket had, ever-so-slowly, begun to dump._

"CUB! CU-" Eagle's voice was suddenly cut off.

Alex threw himself towards the controls just as the top of Eagle's curly, brown head became visible. He knew he had only seconds before the soldier fell to his death.

Even without prior experience with this specific construction machine (_why couldn't it have been a crane?_), the problem was immediately apparent. One end of a thin strand of wire had been wrapped around the handle of the right-hand joystick, the other around a bar on the right-side window. Drawn taut, it pulled the joystick as far to the side as possible– in dumping position.

Flicking out the blade of his knife, Alex set on the wire with adrenaline-fuelled vigor. Without pausing, he glanced up just in time to see the walkie-talkie slide down the muddy, metal surface of the bucket and hurtle towards the ground. Eagle struggled to brace himself against the walls of the machine, but repeatedly lost his footing.

"Come on!" Alex growled through his teeth. With one last savage slice, the wire snapped in half. The joystick automatically whipped back into neutral position, bringing the bucket to a halt-and not a second too soon. Eagle's stork-like legs were flailing wildly in the air, and Alex could hear him shouting something– probably telling him to get him the hell down.

Alex slid into the driver's seat and gently pushed the right joystick to the left, bringing the bucket back into its original position. He grabbed the other joystick and took a deep breath. _Alright. You can do this. It's just like the time with Skoda… only this time there's a man's life on the line…_ So much for a pep talk.

After a little experimentation, Alex found the left joystick controlled the excavator's body rotation and the bucket arm, while the right controlled the bucket curl and the boom. Slowly he rotated the body of the excavator so the bucket was no longer over the hole, then pushed the right joystick forward, lowering the boom. Seconds later, the bucket was less than three feet from the ground and, with a quick flick to the right, the bucket curled open and Eagle slid safely to the earth.

Alex's shoulders slumped in relief as he let out the breath he'd unconsciously held. It was obvious that Eagle felt the same way. Looking through the dirt-dusted window, he could see the man still sitting where he had landed on the ground, stunned.

When Alex finally forced himself to get up and out of the cab, Eagle was hauling himself to his feet. The sight of the soldier, standing there, sagging posture, eyes dark, brought such an onslaught of memories that Alex stepped back in horror.

_Eagle burst through the door, a limp figure in his arms. Tom. Please not Tom. "Why is there so much blood?" Snake's pale face looked down at him. _He quickly stemmed the tide of images they could fully burst forth. "_…don't know if he's going to make it…"_ No! He gritted his teeth and shook his head, clamping down even harder on his thoughts.

"Cub?" Alex was jolted back to reality to see Eagle standing directly in front of him, looking at him in concern. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said briskly.

"Then why are you bleeding?"

"Wha..?" He looked down to where Eagle was pointing. "Oh..." A long, thin, whip-like mark had appeared on his forearm. Blood trickled from it, swirling down around his wrist and onto his palm in a single, red tendril. "Wire must've snapped back when I cut it."

"Let me wrap it for you quickly."

Alex snatched his wrist away as Eagle reached for it. "No, it's fine." There was no mistaking the look of confusion and hurt on the man's face. Alex flushed with embarrassment; he himself couldn't understand why he had just acted that way. It was not necessarily a great way to greet an ex-teammate, especially after the way they had left things off… He shrugged the strange feeling aside, though, and forced a smile. "What about you, Eagle? You look like a boiled lobster. Too bad I haven't got any aloe vera."

The tension dissipated slightly as Eagle grinned. "You're just jealous. It'll turn into a golden tan; you'll see." They both chuckled and Alex was relieved that the man had let the incident go so quickly. "But seriously, Cub; let me wrap that up for you so it stops bleeding." Or not.

Alex sighed."Do you even have anything to use?"

"Of course." The man pulled a role of bandages from one of the pockets of his black cargo pants. "You know how Snake is. He'd beat our heads in if we went on an assignment without some handy."

"Yeah. 'Suppose he would." Alex resisted the overwhelming urge to force the man to let go of his wrist as Eagle began wrapping his arm. Even after all this time, he still sometimes reacted defensively without thinking.

"So," the soldier said as he finished tying the knot in the bandage, "you want to tell me what this is all about?"

_Where do I start? The phone call? The bloody siren of an alarm? _"Well, I was in maths this morning…"

Eagle's brow furrowed in thought as Alex told him of the morning's upheaval and Day's instructions. "That makes sense," he said when the teen had finally finished. "That's why he took K-Unit. We're your 'guests.'"

"Looks like it." _Why? Why did it have to be K-Unit? Day, you bloody sadistic creep. _"…Wait. How did Day get to you?"

Eagle raised his eyebrow in surprise. "We were coming for you, of course. We raided the warehouse less than five minutes after the explosion. It was chaos, Cub." The man's eyes darkened perceptibly. "They were everywhere, at least three men to every one of ours. It was strange, though; they didn't take any kill-shots."

It was Alex's turn to look surprised. "Really?"

The soldier nodded, visibly troubled. "The herded us into one of the big storerooms and lined us up against the wall. We thought we were going to be subjected to some sort of sick version of a firing squad, but we just sat there until a man –I'm assuming it was Day– came in and ordered for the four of us to identify ourselves. He left, we were sedated, and the next thing I know I'm sitting in the bucket of the excavator."

"He knew you were coming before you even got there."

"I know." Eagle's eyes flashed dangerously. "You know what that means don't you?"

"Yeah." Alex gazed off past the man's shoulder, jaw clenched. "It means that Day has a mole inside MI6. It's the only way he would've known that they were picking me up–the only way he could've known when and how many of you were coming." He rubbed his hand across his face, wiping away the grit from the construction site. "It means that we can't contact the SAS or MI6. Not unless we can get directly to the heads, and even then we don't know who is watching us." With a sigh, he acknowledged the fact he'd been trying to avoid since he had woken up at the dilapidated house that afternoon. "It means we're screwed."

Eagle murmured in agreement. It did, indeed, appear that they were royally screwed.

Alex's eyes narrowed in frustration. They needed something. _Anything_. "Did you notice anything suspicious when Day was there?"

The soldier thought for a second, then shook his head. "Not really."

"Come on, Eagle, you had to have seen something!"

"It's not exactly like I had time to play Nancy Drew when fifty large men were shoving semi-automatics in our faces, Cub!" Alex growled a curse under his breath. "Although…"

Alex's ears pricked. "Although what?"

"I had totally forgotten about this until now..." The man trailed off again, face scrunched up as if trying to work out what it was he actually saw.

"Eagle!" Alex said, exasperated.

The soldier's gaze turned back to him. "One of the guys was brought into the room with a hood over his head and his hands zip-tied behind his back. I don't know whether he'd been shot or what, but he walked with a very pronounced limp. It was almost like he was partially crippled." Eagle froze as the words left his mouth, and Alex knew that the man undoubtedly thought he had caused him some internal pain by using the 'c' word. He very well had, but Alex was determined to ignore both the guilt the flared in his stomach and the apologetic glance the soldier shot him. Realizing the teen was not inclined to respond, Eagle cautiously continued. "They sat him away from the rest of us and put extra guards around him. I have no idea who he was, and I'm pretty sure he didn't come in with us."

"A third party, then?"

"That's what it looks like."

Alex closed his eyes and sighed. If that was the case, then things just got a lot more complicated. Such was the story of his life.

"We should get moving, Cub" Eagle said, glancing over his shoulder. This new unknown had somehow put them both even _further_ on edge. "Hopefully we can come up some sort of plan along the way."

"That's great, Eagle," Alex muttered. "Except we don't know where the hell we're supposed to be going. Day didn't leave us another clue."

"Oh!" Eagle bit his lip and dug something out of one of his pockets. "I found this on me when I woke up. Couldn't make heads or tails of it, but it makes sense after what you told me."

Alex took the proffered piece of folded paper, written on the same lined notebook type as the last clue, and unfolded it.

**All alone, the serpent sits and waits,**

**In his dark and dreary hole.**

**To save them from the pearly gates**

**That is his honest goal.**

**But he won't find them here**

**In this abandoned Saint's domain,**

**And when Alex comes barging in without fear,**

**One bright flash, and he'll never be the same. **

"Snake," Eagle muttered as Alex finished reading it aloud.

Alex nodded and silently read it over again. "Abandoned Saint's domain… an abandoned church?"

Eagle frowned. "There has to be at least a dozen of those all over London. How does he expect us to search all of them in time?"

Alex scanned it for a third time. There had to be something that they were missing; it was too easy. "What if it's not a church?" he said, thinking aloud.

The man gave him a weird look. "What else could it be, Cub?"

"I just don't think that Day would leave so much to chance. It's not specific enough." Alex could see that Eagle wasn't buying his argument, but he didn't know how else to explain it. It just didn't feel right. "Day obviously enjoys playing the part of Puppetmaster. I just can't see him having us run all over the city. There's not enough control in that."

Eagle still looked unconvinced. "Maybe he just wants to screw with us."

"No, listen, Eagle. Day knows _everything_." Alex shook his head in disbelief as everything began to come together. "The excavator?" He jabbed his finger at the machine, "he knew I would look for the key; he knew that I wouldn't find it, and he knew that I would try to hotwire it. Eagle, he knew that you were the unit's engineer and could probably help me do it. It was all planned."

Both paled as the implications of that statement set in. For Eagle, it meant an enemy whose strategic skills were unmatched, one who was unpredictable yet methodical. One who held the lives of his teammates in his hands. For Alex, it was the realization that this was not another Eagle Strike. This was not a game in which he could simply break the rules in an effort to outsmart the game master. There were other lives on the line this time, and he knew that Day wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in a man's head to prove a point. It meant that he'd have to play 'puppet' until the right moment came.

"A hospital," Eagle said suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

"What?"

"If he knew I was the engineer, then he knows Snake's the unit's medic. See?" He grabbed the paper with the clue on it from Alex's hands. "'To save them from the pearly gates, that is his honest goal. But he won't find them here, in this abandoned Saint's domain.' It's an abandoned hospital; there wouldn't be any patients there!"

"Eagle, you're a genius!" Alex gave a genuine grin for the first time that day. "Wasn't there a military hospital that closed down a few years ago called St. Martha's? …No, St. Matthew. St. Margaret?"

The man snapped his fingers, remembering. "St. Maurice's! It's about twenty-ish minutes from here, I think." Eagle paused, as if realizing something for the first time. "How are we going to get there, though? Public transport is out of the question if we don't want to be spotted."

A wicked grin slowly spread over Alex's face. "We drive, of course."

"There is no way I'm going to ride on that…that…_toy_ with you, Cub!" Eagle said minutes later as Alex showed him their ride.

"Oh, come on! It's plenty big enough for the both of us. Besides, we don't exactly have any other options, do we?"

"It's not gonna happen."

"Stop being such a girl, Eagle."

"A girl is exactly what I'll look like sitting behind you on that thing!"

"Look," Alex sighed, "do you want to go save your unit or not?"

Eagle gave an exasperated growl. "At least let me drive."

"Not a chance."

The two stood on either side of the motorcycle, glaring at each other.

"Fine," Eagle said through gritted teeth. "But if you crash, I'm going to kill you."

Alex's eyes gleamed as he threw the extra helmet, a little harder than necessary, at the soldier. Ignoring the glare the man gave him, he gave a humourless chuckle and climbed onto the bike. "Hop on, princess," he called over his shoulder.

"Oi! You better watch yourself, Cub."

With a feral smile, Alex revved the engine and shot off, laughing inwardly as the soldier swore and grabbed desperately at the teen's shirt to steady himself.

_Ready or not, Day, here we come._

* * *

**As always, I'd love to know what you think and any suggestions you might have! Many thanks!**


	8. Chapter 7

**I sincerely apologize for the lateness of this chapter - this past month has been ridiculously crazy. However, life is returning to normal, so I shall be updating with a lot more frequency now!**

**Thanks to Pygmymeese my beta, and as always, I don't own Alex Rider. **

* * *

_2:13 pm_

The halls of MI6 were filled with an abnormally high sense of apprehension. Some of it could be chalked up to the major operation that had suddenly been put in play, sending everyone from the paper-pushers to the agents into a state of confusion. A majority of it, however, was due to the rumour that was spreading furiously throughout the building via text and instant message.

Mrs. Jones, the deputy head director, was reportedly stalking through the halls towards the head's office with something close to a scowl on her face.

There were plenty of sceptics - everyone knew that the directors never openly showed emotion - but even they had to begrudgingly agree when one brave man on the fifth floor managed to snap a discreet photo with his phone.

The general consensus now was that the world was ending. That was the only perceivable thing that would bring a reaction from the ice queen.

Those who had worked there long enough to consider themselves 'veterans' told their newer co-workers that she hadn't even looked like that when the Madison Project – that's right, the one that had been three years in the making – had fell through.

Mrs. Jones had every idea what type of stir she was causing. It would be rather hard to ignore the groups that gathered in her wake, but actually looking at them and telling them to get back to work would only acknowledge that there was a problem.

With a stiff back, she approached the head's office. The whispering stopped when her cold fingers wrapped around the door handle, and a barely audible yet collective intake of air could be heard as she pushed it open. As soon as it clicked shut behind her, a quiet buzzing started up again and seeped through the crack at the bottom of the door.

For the second time that day, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. One would think that working at a government intelligence agency would give people some sense of subtlety. Not bothering to smooth the scowl off of her face, Mrs. Jones approached the large, mahogany desk which, in all truthfulness, had more character than the man behind it.

"Alan."

Alan Blunt, busy scrawling his signature across a mound of sheets in front of him, gave no indication that he was listening other than a small twitch of an eyebrow. It was enough.

"We have a problem." Mrs. Jones gripped the papers in her hands until her knuckles turned white, trying to control the frustration and concern in her voice.

Blunt didn't look up from his desk. "Whatever it is, Mrs. Jones, I'm positive that as Deputy Head you can handle it."

"Alan-"

"That is, after all, the reason I put you in the position."

"Alan, will you put the damn papers down for a minute and listen to me?" The buzzing outside the door stopped, telling her she might have said that a little louder than she had intended.

With an almost silent sigh, Blunt set down his pen and very deliberately raised his head to look at her. "Alright, Tulip. What is it?"

Her jaw clenched briefly, not appreciating his melodramatics. "These are the first reports back from the field." She set the papers down in front of him. "It appears that Day knew we were coming."

Blunt's lips jutted out ever so slightly as his forehead crinkled. "That's not possible."

"Alan," Mrs. Jones said, placing her hands squarely on his desk, "not only did they fail to find and retrieve Alex, but it seems that one of the SAS units was taken as well. Some of our men are saying that we never even stood a chance." She got no response. Blunt seemed to have frozen in place. "Do you know what this means?"

He finally looked at her. In that glance, he seemed human instead of the granite leader of MI6 that he was known to exemplify. "When do we get the rest of the reports in?"

"All of the men are being debriefed as we speak."

He gave a jerky nod before reaching for the phone on his desk. One push of a button and three seconds later, a faint _"Yes sir?"_ could be heard on the other end. "My office. Now." Blunt didn't even wait for a response. He hung up, staring at the phone momentarily before looking at Mrs. Jones again.

"Are we going to Code 3?" she asked. His lips tightened into a grim line, and she took a peppermint from her suitcoat pocket. It was times like this that she wished she hadn't given up smoking.

Crawley came through the door less than a minute later, the faint sheen on his forehead and the subtle attempts to control his breathing revealing the fact that he had just sprinted the six flights of stairs from his office on the second floor. He took his place next to Mrs. Jones, folding his hands respectfully behind him. "Sir?"

"As of this moment, we are under Code 3," Blunt said. Crawley paled, eyes flitting briefly towards Mrs. Jones before landing back on his boss. "I want this building in lock down the minute you go out of this office. All outside communication is to be shut down, every mobile and laptop confiscated and searched, and all personnel," Blunt's voice had slowly grown more and more steely, "from the top agents to the bloody janitor, are to be interrogated."

"Sir, I don't think that's legal-"

Blunt's eyes flashed cold fire. "MI6 is above 'illegal,' Mr. Crawley. This is a national security issue, and anyone found resisting in any way will be terminated immediately and regarded as a suspect." Blunt leaned forward in his chair, voice dropping threateningly. "That includes you, Crawley. Do you understand?" Crawley's mouth snapped shut into a thin line and he gave the smallest nod of his head. "Good. Tulip?" He turned to his deputy. "I want reports every half hour. You will also be our liaison to the SAS, as we've undoubtedly have some damage control to do."

* * *

_2:21 pm_

Ironic. That's what his life was. One big, ironic comedy–or perhaps tragedy?–of errors.

Take right now, for example. Right now, he was driving down the streets of London, attempting to remain undetected, while a wiry, sunburned, 6-foot-tall man was clinging to him and intermittently screaming at him to slow down. The ironic part wasn't that a man happened to be his first passenger on his motorcycle instead of a girl–though that was a bit weird. It was more that the man happened to be of a certain SAS variety. More specifically, of the SAS K-Unit variety.

K-Unit. Now if that wasn't a sore subject, Alex didn't know what was. The fact that they had left on decidedly bitter terms (even if that happened to be over two years ago), was something that was currently hovering on the fringes of his conscious thought. And he couldn't shake it.

Alex had never planned on meeting them again, so the events of that March day had been shoved away into some abandoned file in the back of his mind. But here he was, Eagle with his arms tightly wrapped around his stomach, swerving through the afternoon traffic on some mad mission to save the rest of the team.

The part that confused Alex as he played the construction site scene over in his head was the fact that Eagle seemed almost confused about his reaction to him. How was he supposed to react to the man whose words, shouted two years ago, still rang in his head?

_Don't tell me how I should've done my job!...I don't care how much field experience you've had, you're still just a teenager, Cub!...You care nothing for this team; you've shown that quite clearly tonight!_

If he hadn't been so mad at the time, he would've found the man's outburst unnerving. Eagle was a hard person to make angry, but that evening he'd almost lost it. Alex could still see Fox and Snake holding Eagle back by the shoulders, and then eventually dragging him out of the hospital room when things got too out of hand.

Yet here they were, like nothing had ever happened. If that was the way Eagle wanted to play it, then Alex wasn't going to complain. There was no telling what would happen with the rest of the team, though.

As they pulled up in front of the hospital, Alex forced it all to the back of his mind once more. He could deal with it when all of this was over. Turning off the engine, he slowly got off and took in the building in front of him.

From what he could remember from history class, St. Maurice's had been built during WWI after the influx of wounded soldiers had become too high for the civilian hospitals to handle. What had once been state-of-the-art had slowly fallen into disrepair. In the mid-90's, the government decided it was time to close it down for good. With no major wars in the foreseeable future, there was no need to keep funnelling money into an outdated and potentially hazardous building.

It had been scheduled to be torn down and replaced with government office buildings, but the case had gotten lost among a sea of red tape and bureaucratic agendas. So here it stood. Dark, overgrown, crumbling, and, somewhere inside, hiding a teammate.

"This place is creepy." Alex tore his gaze from the deteriorating stone walls to where Eagle stood next to him, helmet under his arm. He, too, was studying the building, his forehead creased in worry. He turned to meet Alex's eyes. "It has to be at least five stories tall."

Alex's lips tightened grimly. Swinging back to the motorcycle, he stuffed his helmet into the side bag and pulled out a high powered LED torch. "We better get started then."

Ten minutes, twenty splinters, and one busted-down, boarded-up door later, they were in. Ignoring Eagle's muttering about the wood slivers in his knuckles, Alex surveyed the scene in front of him. It was nearly pitch black except for the occasional ray of light that slipped through the boarded-up windows and the little that shone through the door they had just come in.

With a flick of his thumb, bright light invaded the space before him and exposed the remains of a gutted hospital. It was like a scene out of a horror movie. Long, thick spider webs hung from nearly every inch of the ceiling, obscene graffiti covered the walls and on the floor lay pieces of rubble, broken bits of chairs, discarded scraps of clothing, and the corpses of shrivelled bugs. All of it was coated in a thick layer of dust.

Eagle swore quietly beside him. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"

Alex didn't respond, opting just to focus the light on the wall furthest from them. An arrow, freshly painted in blood-red paint with horrific looking drips running down the wall beneath it, pointed towards a gaping hole through the wall to the left of it.

"How subtle." The man was trying to be funny, but the affect was ruined by the uneasy edge in his voice. Eagle cleared his throat, as if he had noticed it as well and was now trying to get rid of it. "Well, I'd normally say we split up so we could cover more ground, but given that we only have one torch, no source of communication, and the fact that every scary movie I've ever seen says that's a bad idea, I vote we stick together."

"That sounds good," Alex said hurriedly. Spy he may have been, but that didn't mean that traipsing around the hospital of the dead by himself sounded like a good time.

They began to inch their way toward the indicated direction, gingerly stepping over and around the obstacle course from hell, when Eagle suddenly grabbed Alex's arm and pulled him to a stop. Alex gave him a questioning glare, but the soldier shook his head and pointed to the ground in front of them. "Look, Cub."

The light from the torch fell on two sets of footprints through the dust coming from a door slightly behind and to the right of them before leading into a door opposite of which the arrow was pointing.

"Day, you tricky son of a…" Alex whispered.

"You think it's legitimate, then?"

"It has to be. I mean, logically, how could Day's men go the way the arrow's pointing without leaving any footprints?"

Eagle nodded grimly, and they changed direction.

The chatter started up about halfway down the first hall.

"This is so crazy, you know?" Eagle whispered. "I mean, we don't see any action for a month, and then all of a sudden we have a raid in the middle of London, get kidnapped, and then get thrown into a psycho game of hide and seek. All in one day! I feel like I'm stuck in some game like Dawn of the Dead or going up against the Joker or something…"

Alex rolled his eyes but didn't say anything as the man continued to ramble. He knew from the two years he'd worked with them that Eagle tended to talk when he was nervous. Well, Eagle actually tended to talk all the time, but he tended to talk a lot more and with a lot less sense when things were looking sketchy. And at this moment, things were definitely looking sketchy.

As the hallway eventually ended, they reached a double doorway. One of the doors had been completely torn off and was lying in the middle of the floor, and the glass in the window of the other had been smashed through. Shining the light on the crooked, rotting sign above it, Alex could see the words "Burn Unit."

"I really hope that's not prophetic," Eagle muttered.

Alex didn't reply, but those had been his thoughts exactly. With a man like Day, anything could point towards things to come.

He stepped gingerly on the downed door, freezing only momentarily as a large, black rat scurried by less than a foot in front of him. There was a low curse behind him and he swung around to see Eagle flailing violently against a large spider web that was now wrapped around his head. Several minutes later, all the sticky strings brushed off and an enormous spider discreetly flicked from the man's back, they began again. Both were a little more on edge than they'd like to admit.

Just past the surgical room and around a sharp corner, the last thing they expected happened. The footprints ended.

Disappeared.

Gone.

"That's not possible," Alex whispered to himself, stepping closer to investigate.

"I really don't think that's a good idea, Cub."

"What did you do, Day?" Alex could see that something was off with the floor there. The tile seemed like it had all but been destroyed and then shoddily placed back in roughly the same position.

"Cub, maybe you should…"

Eagle never got to finish his sentence. Alex had gone one step too far, and all of a sudden the floor gave way beneath him. A hand wrapped around his wrist as he began to fall, yanking him to a momentary stop before he started to fall again, pulling the helping hand down with him.

A burst of yellow and blue light exploded in his vision as he hit the ground, then he felt himself slipping towards unconsciousness. He tried to pull his eyes open, but it didn't seem to matter. Only darkness remained.

_I just want to sleep. _His eyes began to droop shut. _Just…sleep…_

* * *

**Please take a moment to review and let me know what you think! Questions - Ideas - Complaints - they're all valid! **

**Thanks!**

_**YoshiRules - Thanks so much for your review! I'm really glad you're enjoying it so far!**_

_**KL - You're right about Eagle and Alex. The only reason they get along is because they've worked together several times since then. I'll be going more into that as the story progresses. Thanks so much for your review! Here's my update! ;) **_


	9. Chapter 8

**As promised, here's the next chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed – I was blown away by the encouragement you guys gave me! I think I responded to everyone. If I haven't, let me know, because I would like to thank you!**

**Pygmymeese, you are awesome.**

**And I own nothing.**

* * *

_2:43 pm_

Some undistinguishable time later, Alex opened his eyes, struggling for a moment to remember why he was in stifling darkness. The sound of tiny, clawed feet skittering across the ground jolted his memory. _Hosptial…Snake…_

He raised himself to his hands and knees, closing his eyes briefly against the thundering roar in his head. _Torch. Where's my torch?_

His hands explored the ground surrounding him, and, finding nothing in the immediate area, ventured forth a few inches on his knees. Something warm and solid met his outstretched fingers, and he froze.

"Eagle?" Alex blindly felt for the man's shoulder, finally finding a hairy arm and following it up. "Eagle?" He shook him gently. There was no response and Alex swore colorfully in French. "Don't do this to me, Eagle."

Ignoring the shards of broken tile and wood that dug into his hands, he started his search for the torch again with reckless abandon. He found it about a yard from where he'd landed, and, after a couple of good smacks against his leg, the light flared up again.

He scooted back over to the fallen soldier, grimacing at what he saw. Eagle was lying on his back, limbs sprawled out in what could be called a classic crime scene position. The man's face was pale, and after a quick examination, it was clear why. Around his lower left abdomen, the fabric had been torn back, revealing a large gash littered with wood slivers.

Alex bit his lip. Without any way of getting the wound clean, infection would start to set in within the hour.

He rubbed a grimy hand across his pounding forehead. It was now a race against time. Find Snake and get Eagle out of this bloody hospital before he got too sick.

"Eagle?" He tapped the man's face gently. "Eagle!"

The soldier emitted a small groan, his eyes flitting open. "I told you to stop!" the man gritted out as soon as his gaze landed on Alex.

Alex grimaced internally, but decided to skip the argument that was likely to ensue if he gave any excuses. "Can you move your fingers and toes?"

"I'm fine," Eagle said testily, trying to sit up. He only made it halfway before he let out muffled grunt, hand flying to the gash in his abdomen. His palm came back red. "Aw, hell," he whispered.

"It's got plenty of splinters in it," Alex said quietly. "We'll need to get it cleaned out as soon as we can. Got any more bandages on you?" When Eagle shook his head, Alex slipped off his school shirt and offered it to the man. "This will have to do till we find Snake."

"Thanks," Eagle mumbled.

Alex shrugged, busying himself with untucking his white undershirt and trying not to notice the soldier's eyes tightening in pain as he pushed the white linen into the wound. "How'd that happen, anyway?" he asked.

"I lunged for you when you started to fall, but tripped over my own damn feet. Landed on my stomach and thought I had missed you, but somehow managed to grab your wrist. You ended up pulling me over, though. I suspect that when I went over the edge, one of those snapped off ends," he jerked his chin toward the hole in the ceiling, Alex following him with the light. "Caught me on my way down."

The edge of the hole consisted of jagged pieces of wood where the rest of the floor had been torn away, which was a peculiarity in itself. "That hole was made intentionally. They boarded it up with Balsa or some other flimsy wood," Alex said, scuffing the broken tiles and wood chips with is feet. "Day knew we would follow the footprints."

Eagle nodded, wincing slightly at the movement. "Does that mean we're going the right direction or not?"

"It doesn't matter now; there's no way we're getting back up there. We'll have to find a staircase." Alex took a moment to survey their surroundings. A dilapidated, rusty metal bed frame bolted to the floor in a corner was the room's only furnishing besides what was left of a rotting toilet and the once white-washed walls had mostly peeled away to reveal dark stone.

It was the door, though, hanging halfway open by a single hinge, that sent a cold shiver of apprehension down his spine.

It was about twice the thickness of a normal door, with a small, glass window about two-thirds of the way up. The side facing the inside had no handle – like a cell.

"We're in the psych ward," Alex said, turning to Eagle. The man's eyes widened and he swore under his breath.

Alex knew enough history, both nationally and locally, to know that the psych ward of _any_ hospital during WWI had been bad enough, but St. Maurice's had been rumored to be especially brutal.

The story went that WWI had brought in such an influx of traumatized young soldiers, that the government was unable to find enough doctors trained in psychiatric health to meet the need. St. Maurice's had only been given two doctors, one for each twelve hour shift. That was hardly enough to cover the hundred or so patients located within the ward.

Due to shortage of doctors, combined with the rudimentary knowledge of mental health at that time, many of the men had been cruelly neglected or lobotomized in an attempt to make them docile. With the progression of modern medicine and therapy, things slowly changed, but those years left a dark mark on the hospital's history, even after it became nothing more than a shell of a building.

"I say the quicker we get out of this place, the better," Alex muttered. He bent down to help Eagle up, the man letting out a grunt of pain as he got to his feet. Alex moved to put Eagle's arm around his shoulder but the soldier refused with a firm shake of his head.

"It's not that deep, Cub," he said quietly when Alex tried to protest. The atmosphere in the basement of the hospital seemed to have erased the humor that usually lurked in the man's eyes. "I've had worse."

Alex looked at him a moment before giving a nod of understanding. It wasn't an issue of pride that had the man refusing; they both knew that they had to move as quickly as possible.

The corridor of the psych ward was in the same condition as the halls upstairs, though the array of obstacles proved odder and more unnerving.

Alex wondered whether some of the things had been thrown around by Day to make it that much creepier. It was either that or it had been ransacked by homeless bums looking for a place to bunk. Both seemed equally possible, though one was far less disconcerting.

Broken syringes, overturned medical carts, wheelchairs, hospital beds equipped with thick leather restraining straps, and various other nightmarish tools littered the ground in front of them. Every room they passed gaped open, black oblivion through the doors hanging on broken hinges.

They eventually reached the end and stepped into a lobby of sorts, complete with a nurses' station. Three of the lobby's walls branched into hallways, while the remaining one contained a door marked 'S AIR ', Alex guessed meant 'stairs.'

"Well, what do we do now, Cub?"

Alex bit his lip in thought. "Half of me is really hoping that Snake hasn't been trapped down here for the past five hours, but the other half knows that Day probably wouldn't get us down here without a reason."

"He could just be screwing with us," Eagle said. "He knew we'd follow the footsteps and wanted to throw us off."

Alex conceded that that was a valid point. _But still…_ "I think we should do a quick check of the other two halls and then we'll head back upstairs and see if we can find the arrow again." He looked to Eagle for agreement - and he didn't like what he saw. The man had his eyes closed and was leaning against the wall, one pale hand still clutching the makeshift bandage to his stomach.

"Eagle?" The man's eyes popped open. "Why don't you sit here and rest while I check, and-"

"No way, Cub," Eagle grunted, standing himself up as straight as he could. "You're not getting rid of me that quickly." Alex opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by a glare from the soldier. "Besides, you have the only light," Eagle muttered as he walked past him, heading for the next hall.

Alex rolled his eyes, but followed after him nonetheless.

"Snake?" Eagle called out, sidestepping an overturned metal restraint chair. "Snake, are you down here, mate?"

As Eagle called for the man, Alex shined the light into each room, briefly flicking it into each inky corner. He had just entered a room halfway down the hall when he froze. There, in the furthest corner, sat a wheelchair. It faced the corner, so he couldn't be for sure, but it looked like a shock of dirty blonde hair was peeking up just over the back of it.

"Snake?" he called out hesitantly. There was no response. Eagle had stopped too, and was now standing in the doorway as Alex crept into the room. "Snake, is that you?" As he got closer, he could clearly see that it was a head leaning back against the cracked leather. The person's ear, sticking out from their hair, looked extremely pale in the torch light. "Snake?" Alex had a sick feeling in his stomach, and this time when he said the man's name, it only came out as a whisper.

_Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead. _Alex's grip unconsciously tightened around his torch as his other hand rested on the back handle of the wheelchair. Steeling his nerves, he took a step large enough to maneuver himself directly in front of the person, and lifted the beam to light to see their face.

A sigh of relief escaped him, though it was quickly drowned out by a chilling sense of unease.

The face of the medical dummy had long since peeled and rotted away, leaving no distinguishable feature. The hospital gown it had been dressed in was eaten to shreds by mice and moths, and he could see now that its hair was alive with wriggling insects.

The worst part, though, were the eyes. There were gone altogether, leaving two black, haunting holes in their stead.

Alex couldn't take his eyes from it. It was horrifyingly mesmerizing. He was only broken from his trance by the shudder that ran down his spine as a black spider the size of his palm crawled out of the mannequin's eye hole and scurried down under its hospital gown.

"Is it him?" Alex jerked his head up, suddenly remembering that Eagle was still there. He gave a small shake of his head and headed towards the man, immediately noticing that the soldier was breathing a little heavier than normal and his lips were drawn in a tight line.

"How's your side?" Alex asked, pointing the light to the wound in question.

"I'll be fine," Eagle murmured. "I just want to get out of this bloody hell-hole."

"We'll need to get Snake to clean it out when we find him. You're on your way to a serious infection."

Eagle grunted his agreement and started to follow Alex down the hall. Alex got two steps before the man's hand shot out and grabbed the teen's arm, jerking him to a halt.

"You're really going to have to stop doing that," Alex hissed.

Eagle put a finger to his lips. "Listen."

They stood frozen for a minute, holding their breath and straining their ears, before they heard it. It was faint and unintelligible, but it was undeniably someone shouting.

Both of them looked at each other, eyes widening.

"Next hall over?" Alex asked.

"It has to be."

That set them off back towards the nurses' station, tripping several times in their haste. As they rounded the corner into the next corridor, Eagle started shouting again.

"Snake? Keep shouting, mate!" They followed the voice until almost the end of the hall. "There's his medic pack!" Eagle said, pointing to a medium-sized black bag next to a door. A closed door. The only closed door in the _entire_ psych ward.

The eye-level window revealed nothing but darkness, but there was no doubt the shouting was coming from the other side. Eagle dropped his sodden bandage and gripped the rusty deadbolt. The lock slid back with an echoing thwack and he flung the door open. Alex squeezed in beside him with the torch.

There, against the back wall, sat a red-faced and breathless Snake. The soldier had ceased his shouting as soon as the door opened, and was now squinting against the light shining on him.

There was a moment of silence before Eagle managed to choke out, "Is that a straightjacket?"

"Eagle! Thank God." There was no mistaking the strain in the man's voice, and Alex didn't blame him. SAS or not, waking up in complete darkness with no idea where you are and unable to move your upper body, was enough to shake anyone up. "Get this bloody thing off me, will you?"

Eagle jumped into action. "Cub, hold the light steady for me."

"Cub?" Snake asked, his eyes studying Alex as he leaned forward to allow Eagle access to the buckles down the back. "What's he doing here? In fact, what the hell is going on, Eagle?"

"Did you ever go on a scavenger hunt when you were a kid, Snake?" Eagle asked, tongue sticking slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he fiddled with the straps.

Alex just rolled his eyes, letting his gaze wander around Snake's cell. It was the same as the one they had 'dropped' into, and he was positive now that wouldn't be a pleasant place to live even in the newest conditions.

There was something else, though. Something about this room was putting him on edge.

"-So he finds me at the construction site-"

"Are you about done?" Alex asked, interrupting what he was sure was a _fascinating _retelling of the morning's adventures.

"Give me a break, Cub. These buckles have to be a least fifty years old!"

"Tell me about it," Snake growled. "This thing smells awful."

Alex shifted nervously on his feet. _What is it? What am I forgetting? 'Abandoned saint's domain.' The hospital, the dark hole. There were two more lines. I can't remember…what did they say? _

_Flash. Bright flash. _

_But that would mean…_

With indescribable dread, Alex dug the piece of paper from his pocket, smoothing it out and holding it so that the light reflected off the white page.

**And when Alex comes barging in without fear,**

**One bright flash, and he'll never be the same.**

It was then that he heard it.

The paper fluttered from his hand. He spun around towards the door, illuminating what he had feared.

"Oi! Cub! How am I supposed to get this last buckle undone if I can't see anything?"

"Get out." Alex's voice seemed to have failed him. The warning barely came out above a whisper. The black box. The wires connected to the door frame. "GET OUT, NOW!"

The two men must have spotted it too. With a string of curses, the scuffling increased tenfold behind him.

"C'mon, Eagle!"

"Dammit, I'm trying! Cub, bring the damn light back over here!"

Alex swung back around. Snake was now struggling against the coarse fabric while Eagle was yanking at the remaining strap.

"Stop struggling, Snake! I can't-" The strap snapped apart in his hands, and a second later Snake was shrugging the jacket onto the floor.

Alex leaped forward and yanked Snake to his feet by his arm. "Let's g-" There was a grunt of pain behind him, and the rest of his sentence was lost in the sudden expulsion of air from his lungs as Eagle collapsed into him. "Snake!" He screamed. "Grab his other arm!" The light in the room bounced violently against the walls as he struggled to hold up the dead weight.

Snake hauled the man off of him, flinging one of Eagle's arms around his own shoulder while Alex stooped under the other. Together, they ran for the door, dragging Eagle between them.

"Which way?"

"Left!"

They swung into the corridor, Alex barely managing to snag Snake's med pack with a finger as they ran past it down the hall. Eagle's feet bumped along the ground behind them as they bodily pushed their way past the strewn medical equipment.

_We're not going to make it in time. The building is going to collapse on us. _

The air seemed to roar around them…but maybe it was just the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

_The stairs…They'd be made of concrete…_

"The stairs!" Alex shouted. He pulled them towards the door as the entered the nurses' station, praying he was right.

As his hand wrapped around the handle and he heaved it open, he felt a silent click echo through the air. They dove into the darkness as the first shockwave ripped through the building, and within milliseconds, the world around them dissolved in a flash of white, burning light.

* * *

**Drop me a line! Whatcha think is happening next?**

_**lortenfide – thanks so much! I know… It just seems to happen that way! Truly! I would leave it on a really reeeeeeeeally boring note if I could. ;)**_

_**Albany - thank you! I always appreciate getting a review from you! I would love to know what you think of this new chapter. :)**_

_**Dudeseyaj – I'm really glad you like it so far! It's been a blast to write. :) Hope you enjoy this new chapter!**_


	10. Chapter 9

**Wow, this update is long overdue! Thanks for all of you who have stuck with me – I promise you that abandoning it has not crossed my mind. The truth is college demands my time, and I have very little left afterwards. I am still updating this story, but as you can see, it might take a bit. I promise you though that the ride will be worth it. :)**

**Thanks to faithful Pygmymeese for fitting me into her crazy schedule!**

**Finally, all recognizable characters belong to Anthony Horowitz.**

* * *

_3:19 pm_

It was a day of firsts at MI6. It was the first time many of them had experienced a breach in the system, the first for even more to experience a leak from the inside, and the first for _all_ to experience a Code Three.

They had all been trained for a Code Three, of course. They all knew how it was supposed to go in _theory_, but theory and reality are often completely different. No one could prepare them for the blood-freezing horror at the thought of being suspected. Not many were well informed of what went on the lower interrogation rooms – the ones that were deep within the bowels of the building where no one could hear you scream – but there were certainly enough rumors to make even the most veteran of agents shudder.

But the lower interrogation rooms were not where Mrs. Jones was headed at the moment. At least not yet. She would undoubtedly visit them sometime within the course of the day, after which she would go back up to her office, into the little private bathroom on the side, and proceed to scrub her hands raw until the cuticles bled. But not yet.

They had to find the traitor first.

Which is why, upon rounding a particularly damp corner in the basement of MI6, she found herself in front of two metal doors, each with a small thick glass window at eye level. Pulling her ID out of a tailored suit pocket, she slid it through a card reader on the right of the first door. With a quiet buzz, the door's locking system released. John Crawley looked up from the file he was reading as she entered.

"What do you have for me, Crawley?" she asked, coming to stand next to him in front of the large, one-way mirror that connected to the neighboring interrogation room.

"Marcus Crayzech. Age 23; a recent recruit straight out of Uni, works on one of our field analyst teams," he recited off obediently, handing her the man's file.

"So he would have had access to the team specs before the recovery even took place," Mrs. Jones said, flipping through filled pages in the manila folder.

Crawley nodded. "The field analysts groups were the first to be searched. We found partially destroyed files on Crayzech's computer which show that he was leaking information concerning Day to an outside source."

Jones absently turned the peppermint in her mouth over with her tongue as she scanned a report. Then, closing the file, she redirected her attention to the young man fidgeting sullenly at the metal table in the next room. "He certainly looks the part," she murmured.

If ever a young adult could be called rebellious, if ever one could be labeled with the stereotypical phrase 'in need of an attitude adjustment,' Marcus Crayzech would be him.

The sleeves of his dress shirt had been rolled back to his elbows, revealing forearms sleeved in tattoos. Shaggy, dyed black hair hung to his eyebrows and brushed his ears, and gauges had stretched his earlobes wide enough to pass a polish sausage through. What sold the look, however, was the crossbreed of a sneer and a scowl that he kept unwaveringly plastered to his face.

"With your permission, ma'am, I'd like to start the interview."

Jones handed the file over to Crawley wordlessly, never taking her eyes from the figure before her. She watched as Crayzech's eyes flitted briefly towards the door as it opened, his lips pulling back in a snarl when he saw who it was.

"Afternoon, Mr. Crayzech," Crawley said, ignoring the waves of hostility that were rolling towards him.

"It's pronounced 'Cray-shjeck,'" the man bit out. "What am I doing here?"

Crawley gave a cold smile as he seated himself on the other side of the table. "I see your file doesn't exaggerate." He flipped a few pages into it. "Written up twice for insubordination since you were hired last year." He looked up questioningly, as if waiting for a response, but Crayzech remained stone-faced. "You have a problem with authority."

Crayzech gave a derisive snort, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "Only the idiotic, over-paid prat you've stuck me with. The man couldn't triangulate a location if you _gave_ him the coordinates. Look, I've already had a thorough dressing down from Internal Affairs, so let's just cut the crap and not waste any more time pretending like you're interested in the affairs of someone who's second to last on the food chain, alright?"

"You're very astute, Mr. Crayzech," Crawley said, an unmistakable predatory gleam in his eye. "It's a pity you didn't use that intelligence to consider the consequences of selling government secrets to the enemy."

There was a moment of pregnant silence while what had just been said was processed, and then, hit by the seriousness of the accusation, the apathetic mask the young man had been holding so tightly to slid away, revealing a myriad of emotions. First it was confusion, which was replaced by horror, and then anger. "You're kidding, right?" Crayzech sat up a little straighter in his seat. "This is a bloody joke!"

"I don't believe MI6 makes it a habit to joke about matters of national security, Mr. Crayzech," Crawley said coolly. He slipped a paper out of the file and slid it across the table with the tips of his fingers. "As an analyst, you should know that it's extremely difficult to permanently erase things from a computer's hard drive. Fortunately for us, you're not as adept as it as you would like to think. These partial files reveal that you were spilling information concerning Alex Rider and our operations to Day."

Terror flitted across the young man's face as he scanned the document. His fingers curled around the edge of the table. "These aren't mine! I hadn't even heard of Day until yesterday!"

Crawley didn't even seem to register the protests. "How much was he paying you, Crayzech? Because I guarantee it won't be enough to buy your way out of the dark hole we reserve for traitors."

"Somebody is setting me up!" Crayzech's was completely pale now, contrasting harshly with his inky black hair. His voice grew louder in volume, edged by hysteria. "I've never seen any of this stuff before in my life, I swear!"

"Mrs. Jones?" Tulip tore her eyes from the scene in front of her to see a nervous looking intern hovering by the partially-open door. "W-We have a situation; they said your presence is needed immediately." With a sigh she gave a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to the interrogation.

"-because I hacked my bosses account doesn't mean I would pair up with a terrorist! All I did was put a harmless pop-up virus on his computer!"

Mrs. Jones reached for the button on the wall by the window that allowed her to speak into the room. She'd seen enough.

"To teach him a lesson, right? Just like you thought you'd teach the govern-"

"Crawley." The occupants of the room jumped at the bodiless voice that suddenly filled the room. Crawley swiveled around in his chair to look at the one way mirror, though all he saw was his reflection. "A word, please." The agent opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "Now."

His mouth snapped shut into a thin line. "Yes ma'am," he said, grudgingly turning back to the table to collect the papers.

Mrs. Jones studied the young man's body language as Crawley left the room, finding her initial niggle of doubt steadily growing. She knew what liars looked like. That meant that Crayzech was either a very, _very _good liar, or he was innocent. And she was leaning towards innocent. It simply worked together _too_ well. His profile, his past infractions, his attitude – if someone was looking for someone to throw under the bus, Marcus Crayzech would be a prime candidate.

She watched as a guard came in and cuffed the vehemently protesting young man, not even glancing as her agent entered the room.

"It seems we've found our man." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Crawley smile like a cat who'd swallowed a canary. "We can have him transferred to our interrogators downstairs to see whether he was working with anyone else."

Tulip remained stone-faced at the mention of their more...unethical...forms of questioning, however distasteful she found the subject. "That won't be necessary at the moment, Mr. Crawley," she said. "We have a more pressing issue at the moment. I want you to head up to the situation room and make sure there is a report ready for me when I get there. I will be up in a few minutes."

Crawley's eyebrows furrowed and she could tell that he wasn't ready to drop his role as interrogator so quickly. They both knew that he would not refuse, though. "Yes ma'am," he said obediently, if a little stiffly.

Her eyes never strayed from the now empty chair in the interrogation room even as he left. Perhaps it was because she too deeply engrossed in the thought that there was something much deeper going on here than they knew, and were possibly even ready for.

Closing her eyes with a sigh, she pulled out her cell phone and called the only person she was absolutely sure she could trust. She was going to get to the bottom of this, and she would take down whoever stood in her way to do it.

**LiveAndLetDie**

_3:20 pm_

It took three endless minutes for the dust to clear enough for Alex to see anything. Lifting himself gingerly on his elbows and wiping the bits of brick and concrete from off of his chest and legs, he surveyed the damage. The previously pitch black stairwell was now dotted in light as some of the outer bricks above them had crumbled away in the explosion; thick, gray dust swirled hauntingly through the beams that streamed in.

Wetness pooled into his eye, and Alex tentatively raised a hand to wipe it away. His fingers came back slick, but the warm blood soon became thick and tacky in the musty air. Muttering a swear, he wiped his hand on his shirt. His fingers froze against the frayed fabric as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There was someone in there. He could feel their eyes on him.

The muscles in his neck tensing painfully, he slowly turned his head, peering into the corners of stairwell. The dust moved in and out of the light forming phantom shapes that dissolved as soon as they were formed. He watched them for a moment, before turning back, only half convinced that he had been wrong.

His head snapped up towards the stairs at the sound of a muffled footstep. There, at the top of the flight of stairs, stood the outline of a man. The edges of his dark hair and gray trench coat could just be distinguished from the darkness around him. His face was shadowed, and though Alex was unable to see the man's eyes, he could feel them fixed on him. They stayed like that for a moment, the man staring down at him and Alex staring up, before the stranger spoke.

"You should leave." The man spoke with a crisp American accent, absent of any drawl that might tie him to a state or region. "They will be here within seven minutes." With that simple message, he turned to leave.

"Wait!" Alex struggled to get to his feet, ignoring the pain that shot through every nerve in his body. "Who is-" He growled as another drip of blood trickled in his eye. "Who are 'they'?" he asked, savagely swiping it away. But by the time his vision was clear again, the man was gone. Alex swore, running a hand through his blood and dust matted hair. He didn't have time for any more cryptic warnings right now.

Kicking a chunk of brick in a rare display of frustration, he turned back to where Snake and Eagle lay on the cement floor. The medic was stirring from where he had thrown himself on top of his unconscious friend, bearing the brunt of the blast.

"Snake?" he whispered, moving gingerly through the rubble towards them. "You with me?"

The man grunted in response, rolling off of his teammate and promptly vomiting into the rubble. "Yeah," the man rasped, spitting the remaining bile from his mouth and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "I'm here."

Alex, relieved that he wasn't going to have to somehow drag two men up and out of the building, crouched by Eagle's side to check on him. Snake, forgetting his own injuries, was already there, though, gently rolling his friend onto his back and placing two fingers under the man's jaw in search for a pulse.

"It's there," he said after a moment. "And strong."

Alex sighed and wiped away another streak of blood that had dribbled into his eye. "Can he be moved?" he asked, thinking back to the stranger's warning. "The feds will be swarming the place in minutes."

Snake paused, head turning just enough to let Cub see the acidic look in his eyes. "And just why are we running _away_ from the feds?" his voice was low, threatening. "You haven't gone and switched sides on us again, have you?"

Alex thought his teeth would crack from the force he gritted them together with. It was a low blow – they both knew it. Alex's tryst with Scorpia had been when he was _fourteen_. "Now's not the time to bring our personal problems into this, Snake," he said icily. "There are people's lives–your _teammates'_ lives–on the line!"

Snake rose to his feet, hands clenched. "And since when did you care about teammates?"

Alex took a breath, trying to push down the rising tide of red anger that threatened to flood over him. He'd been expecting their unresolved issues to spark some tension, but not this downright hostility. Especially after the way Eagle had acted towards him. "Look," he said, "I know you don't agree with what I did, Snake, but we have to go. _Now._"

"I don't think so." They two of them were now standing practically nose to nose over Eagle's body, muscles tensed like feral animals ready for a fight. "Eagle needs medical attention, and I'm not going to let you drag us into whatever shit you're mixed up in. Take it to the feds. Besides," he sneered, giving Alex a small, forceful shove, "last time someone followed you, you got them _shot_."

Alex's eyes darkened at that comment. "Shut your mouth," he growled.

"Or else what, Cub?" Snake taunted. The soldier scoffed when the teen didn't respond. "You're nothing but a selfish little bra-"

Alex punched him. Hard.

Snake stumbled back a step, eyes narrowing as he saw the bright red blood on his hand from his freshly broken nose. With a low growl, he shook it off and launched a right hook back at Alex. With a quick upward thrust, Alex was able to swat Snake's hand away, but wasn't ready for the fist in the side he received from the man's other hand. The solid blow and the culmination of the day's injuries sent him to his knees, gasping for air. He watched through watering eyes as Snake stepped over his fallen friend towards him.

It had been stupid to punch him. Not only was it wasting time, but Alex knew that he wouldn't be able to win this fight. If Snake managed to knock him unconscious, then it was all over. The feds would take him in and hundreds of people would die. The man didn't trust him anymore, but he had to try to make him understand.

"Snake," he panted, trying to get to his feet. "You have t-to listen to me." He staggered back a few steps to put distance between them. "We can't go t-to the feds. He said he'd blow up the hospital, just like he blew up t-this one." Snake's approach didn't falter. Alex quickly cast a glance around him for something he could use to defend himself. While he didn't want to fight the man, he couldn't allow himself to be taken in. He spotted a thick piece of wood lying at his feet and grabbed it, ignoring the splinters that dug into his palm.

"What are you going to do with that, Cub? Stab me in the back?" Snake sneered.

Alex was now back up against what was left of the door they had come through, sagging against it slightly for support. "Snake, we need to-"

"No, Cub," the man said threateningly, grabbing ahold of the front of Alex's shirt with one hand and tearing the piece of wood from his grip with the other, "what _I _need is to drag your ungrateful, preferably unconscious, arse back to MI6 so I can contact _my_ commander and go find the rest of _my _team."

Alex struggle weakly as Snake raised his fist to deliver the final blow, but the soldier's grip only tightened even more painfully. But, even as the man moved to strike, he was forced to pause as beams of artificial light suddenly cut across the semi-darkness. Snake's head whipped around in surprise; Alex's eyes closed in defeat.

"Police! Get on ground now!"

* * *

**Please take a moment to tell me your thoughts!**

**Again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed and encouraged me!**


End file.
